by Lyn Andrews
She was startled by the sound of the front-door bell. She had no appointments and Arthur had a key so it wasn’t him, she thought as she went to open the door, pausing for a fraction of a second to smooth her hair in the mirror on the hallstand. Maybe it was a client calling on the off chance that she could see them.
Frank Ryan was standing on the step, muffled up against the cold and looking apprehensive. Sophie’s hand went to her throat but her heart turned over at the sight of him. ‘Frank!’
‘Sophie, I . . . I had to come to see you before I leave. It’s been so long since I last saw you, let alone had the chance of a few words . . . and I’ll be away for Christmas,’ he explained, praying she wouldn’t turn him away. No one knew he’d come here. He purposely hadn’t mentioned it to his mam for she wouldn’t have approved and would have tried to stop him.
Sophie hesitated, not knowing what to do for the best. Should she invite him in and thereby put all her resolutions in jeopardy or should she turn him away? But what he’d said was true, it had been such a long time since they’d had a conversation and he would be away for Christmas. Her feelings got the better of her. ‘Come inside, Frank. It’s bitterly cold.’
He stepped into the hall and she closed the front door, hardly daring to look at him. ‘I . . . I knew you would be away, Aunty Lizzie told me when she was here last. Katie and Matt are getting engaged at Christmas; we’re all going up to Harebell Street for a bit of a get-together to celebrate.’
‘I know, Mam told me. At least they’ve got something to celebrate,’ he replied bitterly.
Sophie nodded, wondering what she should say next. She was having trouble keeping her emotions under control; she just wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him and tell him how much she loved him and missed him. ‘So, when do you sail?’ she finally asked.
‘Early tomorrow morning. Winter will be almost over by the time I get back. Oh, Sophie, I wish . . .’ He made to take her arm but she drew back.
‘Please don’t, Frank! You know how I feel about you but . . . but . . .’
‘Just a kiss, Sophie, please?’ he begged. ‘A kiss for Christmas and to say goodbye?’
She shook her head, backing away from him. If he reached out, if he kissed her she’d be lost. ‘Please, Frank! I can’t . . . I daren’t . . .’
He moved towards her but stopped and it was with lightheaded relief that she heard Arthur’s key in the lock.
‘Frank! Sophie?’ Arthur looked at her with concern but she smiled.
‘Frank just called to wish me a “Happy Christmas”. He’s sailing early in the morning.’
Frank nodded calmly at Arthur but inside he felt miserable and dejected. A few more seconds and he knew she would have capitulated. It was tearing him apart to be so close to her and yet be unable to hold her and kiss her.
‘Then it’s to be hoped the weather will have improved by then for you, Frank, and a calm crossing would certainly benefit Maria. She must have felt pretty awful on that ferry this morning.’ Arthur took off his coat and hat and hung them on the hallstand but then made no move to leave Frank and Sophie alone again.
‘She went home to Peel this morning; she had to go to see someone,’ Sophie enlightened him.
Frank nodded slowly. ‘I . . . I’d better go, Sophie. Mam is expecting me for a farewell meal and I’ve to pick up my uniform and stuff.’
Arthur opened the door. ‘Well, goodbye and safe trip, Frank.’
‘Take care of yourself, Frank and . . . and thank you for coming. I . . . we’ll be thinking of you at Christmas,’ Sophie added as with one last look of longing Frank turned and left.
‘He . . . he just turned up on the doorstep, Arthur, and I hadn’t the heart to turn him away, but I’m glad you arrived when you did,’ Sophie said, feeling a little shaky.
‘Sophie, you’ve no need to explain to me. I know you love him and I know how difficult that is for you to live with,’ he said gently.
She nodded, thinking he was right: it was so hard. Frank was still irrevocably tied to Nora but was she right to urge Maria to give up Hans? To make her suffer as she, Sophie, was suffering? They did have a chance of happiness together, no matter how slight or how impossible it seemed at the moment.
The room was warm and looked cosy, Maria thought as she helped her mother to set the table, and the delicious aroma of Sarah’s fish pie wafted from the oven in the range. The wind had virtually died and now a sea fret was drifting in over the village. She knew he would come, she didn’t doubt it at all and she wanted her mother to like him. If they had Sarah on their side then perhaps something could be worked out.
‘Put the kettle on, Maria. The lad will be chilled to the bone walking all the way down the hill in this mist,’ Sarah instructed as she checked on the pie. She was happy to have Maria home, even though the visit was brief, and she wished there was something stronger to drink than tea but there wasn’t. Her husband, John Kinnin, had been a member of the Temperance Society so there had never been alcohol in this house. Not that he objected to others taking a drink, but drink and ‘chasing the herring’ did not go well together, he’d always said; it was a dangerous occupation and you needed your wits about you.
‘He’ll take no harm from Manannán’s cloak, Mam,’ Maria said, smiling, feeling the joy bubbling up inside her. He’d be here in a few minutes.
Sarah laughed good naturedly. ‘That he won’t, but he’ll still need something to warm him,’ she replied. It was an old Manx belief that the Celtic sea god, Manannán mac Lir, protected the island from all dangers with his cloak of mist.
The tea was made and Maria left it to draw but before she had time to set out the cups she heard the greatly anticipated knock on the cottage door.
‘Well, go and open the door, Maria,’ Sarah instructed, wiping her hands on her apron.
Maria’s smile of welcome lit up her face as she ushered Hans into the room. ‘Mam, this is Hans.’
Sarah held out her hand in greeting, seeing a tall, fair young man whose thin features bore the mark of hardship and suffering. The old coat he wore was torn and stained but she could see he’d made an effort with his appearance. His collarless shirt was clean if unironed and his boots, although badly worn, had been buffed. The hand that gripped hers was rough and calloused from hard manual work. She liked him. ‘You are welcome, Hans.’
He smiled shyly and held out a neatly tied bundle of kindling. ‘I have much shame that this is all I have to bring you, Mrs Kinnin, but I chopped it and tied it myself.’
Her heart softened as she took it from him. ‘It is a very useful gift, lad, and it is the thought that counts, not the value of the gift.’
Maria took his coat and hung it up behind the door while Sarah handed him the tea. ‘It is cold out tonight but at least the wind has dropped. Come closer to the fire,’ she urged.
‘You have a very comfortable home,’ he commented, gazing around the small room with its colourful rag rugs, the dresser now almost devoid of dishes, which were set out on the small table, the brass candlesticks on the mantel above the range and the picture of St Patrick’s Isle that hung on the wall beside the door.
Sarah nodded, not missing the wistful note in his voice. ‘Sit down, the pie is ready,’ she instructed, bustling about and placing first a large dish of potatoes followed by the pie on the table. Nor did she miss the look of delight that crossed his face at the sight of the simple meal. He was starving, she thought, although she was sure Maude gave him at least one good meal a day.
‘Mam’s fish pie is the best in the whole parish,’ Maria said, beaming happily at him. Oh, how she had longed to see him sitting down with them for a meal!
He nodded his agreement, his mouth full of flaky pastry and the rich sauce full of large pieces of tasty fish. ‘It is very good,’ he agreed when he could speak. ‘Mrs Sayle, she is good, she gives me a hot dinner each day and bread and cheese for breakfast, but never have I had such a pie.’ He was trying his best not to cram the food in
to his mouth and appear bad mannered.
Maria relaxed as she watched him eat. If only he could stay here with Mam and go up to the farm to work each day. She would feel far better knowing he was being looked after and had a warm, dry bed at night, but she couldn’t ask her mother that. It was too soon and Sarah had said nothing further so far about Hans spending Christmas Day here.
She listened intently as her mother asked him about his home in Austria and his family. He spoke with affection of his parents and his sister Ingrid, whom she had known slightly. She learned of their home in the high pastures of the Tyrol, a wooden chalet farmhouse where the animals were kept in the basement during the long winter months. Of how deep the snow was during those months, so deep they were often cut off, and of how, when spring came, the pastures were carpeted with alpine flowers and of how hard life was now and of how much he had missed Maria.
‘So, I came back to the island where I was happy and where I met my Maria,’ he finished.
Sarah nodded. She could see by the way his eyes lit up each time he looked at her daughter that he loved her deeply. She got to her feet. ‘Leave the dishes in the sink in the scullery, Maria; we’ll do them in the morning. I’ll make up the fire and then I’m away to my bed.’
Hans was instantly on his feet. ‘I will attend to the fire, Mrs Kinnin. Please, it is such a small thing for me to do to help.’
Sarah nodded. Had the weather been better she would have suggested that they go for a walk either by the harbour or along the promenade but she hadn’t the heart to send them out into the cold mist and they had so little time together: just a few hours tonight for tomorrow he had his work at the farm and Maria must take the bus to Douglas for the ferry. ‘Thank you, Hans. Goodnight.’
Although relieved that her mother was allowing them some time alone Maria was perturbed that Sarah had made no mention of any future visit. ‘Goodnight, Mam,’ she said, trying to hide her disappointment.
‘Goodnight and thank you, Mrs Kinnin,’ Hans added politely.
When she reached the foot of the narrow stone stairs set into the wall Sarah turned. ‘You are welcome in this house, Hans, and I would like you to come each Sunday for your supper, and you must come for your meal on Christmas Day too. I could not call myself a Christian woman if I left you alone on that day although I’m sure Maude would see you had a hot meal. Maria will not be able to get home, she has to work on Christmas Eve and the ferry does not sail over the holiday, so there will be just you and me.’
Maria took his hand and smiled at her mother, her eyes shining. ‘Thank you, Mam. Oh, thank you so much!’
Sarah nodded and turned again towards the stairs. The look in Maria’s eyes reminded her forcibly of the way she had felt the day she had married John Kinnin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THAT NIGHT, AFTER HANS left, Maria lay awake for hours trying to find some way to solve the problem of how they could be together. It had been a bittersweet parting and she’d had to fight back her tears. She had hated to let him go and they’d clung together, she promising to come back as soon as she could.
Next morning the mist still heavily shrouded the land and she had feared that the ferry would once again be late, but once they cleared the shores of the island Mannanán’s cloak disappeared and the wintry sun made the crossing a little more bearable.
‘I’ve tea and some scones ready. How did it all . . . go?’ Sophie asked as soon as Maria arrived back from the ferry and sank thankfully into the chair by the fire. They were alone for Sophie had persuaded Hetty to go up and have a nap, Bella was at Emily’s house for the afternoon and Arthur had tactfully gone to his room on the pretext of writing his annual letter to his cousin in Vermont.
Maria told her everything and upon hearing of her mother’s change of heart Sophie nodded slowly. ‘I can understand how hard it is for you, Maria. What will you do?’
‘What can I do, Sophie? I’ve asked Mam to send me the newspapers in case a job is advertised.’
‘You’ll never earn as much as you do now, Maria,’ Sophie reminded her.
‘I know but if . . . if I could get something, to use Aunty Lizzie’s favorite saying, “we’ll manage”.’
Sophie didn’t look convinced. ‘So, he’s going to Mam on Christmas Day?’
Maria nodded. ‘I’ll try and get over before then but . . . but if I can’t I’m going to buy him some decent clothes and send them over. Oh, Sophie, it broke my heart to see the terrible old coat he had. He has nothing . . . nothing.’
Sophie nodded and sighed. ‘Well, if you do manage to get over you can bring back a goose. I’m going to write to Mrs Sayle. I’m determined that this Christmas is going to be the best Hetty and Arthur have had in their lives.’
‘I wish I could say it will be the best I’ve had, Sophie, but I’ll try to keep cheerful. At least I know Hans loves me and that he’s not too far away, which is more than I did last year,’ Maria said with a rueful little smile.
Sophie thought of Frank who loved her and who would be thousands of miles away but she said nothing; there would be so much to do in the weeks ahead that her mind would be fully occupied.
The days just seemed to fly by as Christmas approached. Arthur had seen an advertisement in a shop window for a scooter and so she’d bought it and she’d also managed to obtain a second-hand dolls’ pram, both of which Arthur kindly spent many hours renovating until she declared that they looked brand new. She had made the pram set from some white broderie anglaise and she’d also made some new clothes for Bella’s treasured dolls. She had been busy with her dressmaking too for people wanted new outfits for Christmas, and she’d made up the blue velvet for Bella and a dress of a similar shade in taffeta for Katie, which was her engagement gift to her cousin.
She and Hetty spent many hours baking and Arthur had gone into town and had come home with a huge tree and some big bunches of holly. He’d had to walk most of the way for he’d said jovially that there wasn’t a conductor who would let him on a tram with so much prickly greenery. They’d festooned the hall and living room with the holly and she, Bella and Maria had made all the little decorations that now adorned the tree. She had bought gifts for her sister and Hetty and Arthur, and for Lizzie and Jim, which she’d wrapped and placed under the tree. Maria’s, Hetty’s and Arthur’s gifts were duly added to the pile and Bella’s excitement was growing each day.
‘And there’s to be no poking at them or tearing little holes in the wrapping paper to see what’s inside, Bella. Remember, Santa can see you,’ she’d warned her daughter.
Arthur was going to accompany Hetty to church on Christmas morning – he got on well with her friends – and then they would have lunch, after which Sophie intended to persuade Hetty to take a nap and no doubt Arthur would be glad of a few hours’ peace and quiet, perhaps to read the Father Brown Stories, which was her present to him. She and Maria would wash up while Bella could play with her new toys.
‘Do you think Hetty and Arthur will come with us to Aunty Lizzie’s?’ Maria asked on Christmas Eve as they were setting out Hetty’s best china and glass on the table in the dining room. The vegetables were all peeled and in bowls of cold water in the kitchen. The goose had arrived and was sitting on the marble slab in the pantry alongside the bowl of stuffing Hetty had made using her mother’s recipe.
‘I don’t honestly know but I think Hetty might be too tired and Arthur . . . well, you know how uncomfortable he feels with crowds of people.’
Maria nodded; she couldn’t see either of them really enjoying themselves packed into Lizzie’s parlour with half the neighbourhood.
‘You do realise that Ben Seddon will be there, Maria?’
‘I do,’ Maria replied, polishing a crystal wine glass.
‘And . . . ?’ Sophie probed. ‘I’m going to have to tell him, Sophie, that Hans is back and that we’ll be getting married.’ She was bitterly disappointed that she hadn’t been able to get over to see him again but she’d written and she’d se
nt the gifts she’d bought. He’d written back, thanking her for the brown cord trousers, cream shirt and the brown and cream heavy knitted sweater but bitterly regretting that he had nothing to send to her except his love. That was all she’d cared about but she wished Mam had a telephone or knew someone who had one; she would dearly have loved to have spoken to him on Christmas Day and told him so.
‘It’s not going to be a very happy occasion for Ben then,’ Sophie remarked sadly.
Bella’s cries of delight woke the whole household at six o’clock on Christmas Morning and even Hetty and Arthur, clad in warm dressing gowns, joined Sophie and Maria in the living room where Sophie had suggested Bella hang up her stocking.
‘Mam, oh, Mam, it’s beautiful! It’s so shiny and look at the lovely eiderdown and pillow and he left new clothes for all my dolls too!’ Bella’s blue eyes were dancing with excitement, her cheeks flushed pink and her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders.
‘Aren’t you a lucky little girl? Now, I think you’d better get some clothes on or you’ll catch cold,’ Sophie laughed, her own eyes sparkling with pleasure at the child’s delight.
‘Can I open my other presents, Mam? The ones under the tree?’ Bella begged, still patting the pram lovingly and resolving to dress her dolls in their new outfits and put them all in it and take them for a walk as soon as breakfast was over.
Sophie shook her head. ‘No, you can’t. It’s much too early. We’ll open them all after breakfast. Now, off you go and get dressed while I make a cup of tea to warm us up.’
