by Bess McBride
Chapter Three
“Noooo, Mama,” Claire protested softly.
“Please be polite, Claire,” Belinda said. “Cousin Annie is simply telling us what she has read.”
Claire fell silent, but out of her mother’s direct view, she gave Annie a sullen look. Annie pressed her lips together to tamp down a smile. There was the great-grandmother she had come to know.
“I’m sorry to have to share that news,” Annie said. “I really am.” She eyed Belinda hopefully.
“I do appreciate your thoughts, Annie, but I cannot imagine that Monroe will give up milk in his coffee, and the baby simply must have milk.”
Annie chewed on the corner of her mouth. Convincing them to give up dairy products was going to be harder than she had anticipated only moments before. They might have been born almost 150 years ago, but they weren’t easily persuaded by her half-baked razzmatazz. She should have come prepared with information...if she’d known she was going to travel to the past, that was.
“Where are you staying, Annie?” Belinda asked.
Annie pursed her lips, back to trying to come up with a plausible story. She wasn’t about to tell Belinda the truth—or what she thought was the truth—that she had traveled in time. Annie knew that in the early twentieth century, insane hospitals were not at all uncommon. In her genealogy research, she had seen far too many women confined to hospitals and diagnosed as insane or with hysteria. She wasn’t going to join those ranks. Despite warming up with the tea, she shivered.
“I don’t have a hotel yet,” Annie said, staring at her teacup. “I was going to book a hotel near the train station, but as I said, I lost my things. I’ll have to figure something out.”
“You must stay with us then!” Belinda said. “How long are you in Lancaster for?”
“Just a couple of days, I think,” Annie said. She honestly didn’t know, but Danny’s face materialized in her consciousness. If she was gone for more than twelve hours, he would call the police. She had no idea how to get back, but until she did something to stop the Sellers from, at a minimum, eating ice cream, she wasn’t going anywhere!
“If you don’t mind sharing with a child, you can share Claire’s room. Would that be all right?”
Belinda wasn’t asking Claire, and Claire’s eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t want to put anyone out,” Annie fussed.
“Not at all. Claire won’t mind,” Belinda said. “Do stay. Monroe will want to meet you.”
The front door opened just then, and three children burst in, pushing each other and laughing. They stopped short when they saw Annie. The girl and two boys wore thick knee-length dark-blue overcoats, as if they had all been bought wholesale for the family. All three wore knit tights and hats. Reddened cheeks and fingers echoed the brisk air outside.
“Children!” Belinda said. “Behave yourselves. Come meet Cousin Annie Warner.”
Annie set her cup down and stared at their faces. The girl, a slightly younger version of Claire, grabbed her brothers by their coat sleeves and pulled them forward.
“Cathy, Harry, Teddie, this is our cousin, Miss Annie Warner,” Belinda said. “You may call her Cousin Annie. These are the rest of my children, Annie. Cathy is ten, Harry is nine, and Teddie is six. They’ve just been out for a walk.”
Teddie, Annie repeated silently. Not Ted then, Teddie.
Annie rose, though she probably didn’t need to, upon meeting children. Somehow, she couldn’t remain seated, not after hearing Teddie’s name, after looking at his beautiful cornflower-blue eyes and sweet face. The urgency to stop the impending tragedy spurred her.
She bent down and offered her hand to Teddie first. He stuck his cold skinny fingers in hers, and she covered his hand in both of hers.
“Teddie,” she said with a break in her voice.
Cathy pulled her brother’s hat off his head, revealing tousled chestnut-brown hair that matched her own. In fact, all the children shared the same color hair.
“His name is Ted, but we call him Teddie,” Belinda said. “He prefers to be called Ted, but we have called him Teddie for so long, I don’t know that we can easily change.”
“I love the name Teddie,” Annie breathed. She wanted to caress his sweet hair but didn’t dare.
Teddie didn’t speak, and Annie realized that he looked miserable at her attention. She pulled herself together, swallowed hard and turned to Cathy.
“Cathy,” she said, offering her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Cousin Annie,” Cathy said. Petite like Claire, she looked much younger than her ten years. She wore her hair in two ribboned pigtails, little ringlets bouncing as she nodded. Like Belinda, she looked Annie up and down, as if wondering about her clothing.
“And last but not least, Harry,” Annie said, turning to the taller boy with a smile. Still short by any standards, Harry also looked younger than his nine years. Belinda was a little woman, but could she have been the genetic force behind all these small people? Annie wondered at Monroe’s height.
“Hello, Miss,” Harry said with a wide, friendly smile.
“Hello,” Annie said.
“All right, children. Hang your coats up, then go upstairs and wash your hands. Then Cathy can take you into the kitchen for some milk.”
“Ma! Can we have hot chocolate?” Harry asked.
Belinda nodded. “If Cathy wants to heat up some milk, you may.”
That dreaded word again, Annie thought, resuming her seat.
“I don’t mind, Mama,” Cathy said. “Thank you. Will you help, Claire?”
“I’m having tea,” Claire said self-importantly. Cathy shot her sister a look that suggested pure sibling rivalry.
“Claire is resting right now, Cathy,” Belinda said. “The babies have been a handful today. Do be quiet when you go upstairs.”
Cathy nodded and gestured for the boys to follow her toward the doorway. She pulled off coats and hats and hung them up. The boys wore matching two-piece blue-and-white pin-striped outfits with broad sailor collars. Under her coat, Cathy wore a pale-blue dress with a low waisted belt that ended just below her knees. Thick white tights kept her legs warm. All three children wore boots.
“Come,” she said imperiously as she directed the boys to follow her up the stairs. They seemed almost to clomp as loud as possible on the wood treads in their hard-soled shoes.
Annie listened to the boards creaking upstairs as the children moved around. Some motherly, or cousinly, instinct had kicked in, and Annie wanted to see Teddie again.
“Are they coming back down?”
“Yes, they won’t be long, not if they know hot chocolate awaits them.”
Annie winced and nodded, surveying the townhouse once again. The rooms were narrow but long. Faster than a thorough handwashing by three children at one time might allow, they clomped back down the stairs.
“I did ask you to be quiet,” Belinda said with a sigh. “That means the stairs too.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Cathy said. She herded the boys into the kitchen, and Annie had all she could do to stay put on her seat and not run after them with dire warnings.
“So you make your hot chocolate with milk?” she asked, though Belinda had already said so.
Belinda tilted her head and smiled.
“Yes, I know you are worried about milk, but the children thrive on it. And they do so love their hot chocolate.”
“Too much,” Claire offered with the look of a mini mother.
“I spoil them,” Belinda said.
Annie felt a desperate needed to speak freely to Belinda, as one adult to another, but Claire seemed determined to stay. Annie couldn’t wait.
“Has there been a lot of typhoid fever in the area?” she blurted out.
Belinda, her teacup to her lips, dropped her cup into the saucer with a clatter.
“Typhoid? Oh my!” She turned to look at Claire, whose eyes were round as saucers.
Annie barreled on through. No, of course, one didn
’t discuss these types of things with children, but she had no time to waste. “Yes, typhoid fever? Isn’t it rampant hereabouts?”
Belinda set her cup down. “Claire, I need to speak to Cousin Annie alone. Do please go help your sister after all.”
“But, Mama—” Claire began.
“Don’t but me. Please do as I say.”
Claire set her cup down on the coffee table and left the room. On her way out and behind Belinda’s back, she threw a glowering look in Annie’s direction.
Her great-grandmother’s pouting didn’t bother Annie in the least.
“Annie, dear, we don’t speak of those things in front of the children. It will only worry them.”
“I know, I know, Belinda,” Annie said, forcing herself to use her ancestress’s first name aloud. “I know. I’m sorry. I heard, though, that one could get typhoid fever from milk products...you know, like ice cream.”
Belinda sighed. “We haven’t had an outbreak here since last year. They linked it to a local dairy farm, but since then, I think the disease has vanished...disappeared.”
I shook my head. “Belinda, I wish that was true, but I have to be honest. I think you might find that typhoid is still around. I heard that it’s contracted by unwashed hands.”
“Annie!” Belinda said, rearing her head. “I hope you’re not suggesting that I run a dirty house!”
“No, no, not you, Belinda!” Annie rushed in. “No! I meant at the dairy farm. Or maybe even the drugstore where you get your ice cream. What about the man serving it?”
“Mr. Goodie, the pharmacist? Oh, Annie, really, that is too much! Mr. Goodie is a dear man. His son, Jonathan, works there as well. They always let the children lick the spoons to try various flavors.”
Annie held back a gag. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”
Belinda’s normally kind expression darkened.
“Annie, you are certainly very critical of our lives here. First, I run a dirty house and then Mr. Goodie and his son are unhealthy?”
Annie knew she had pushed the issue too far. Belinda didn’t look like she angered easily, but her red cheeks and frown suggested she was losing her temper.
“I’m sorry,” Annie said. “One of my grandmothers died of typhoid fever from eating tainted ice cream from a dairy, and I always worry.”
Belinda’s expression changed instantly. “Annie! I’m so sorry. Well, of course you would worry. That is perfectly understandable. Please don’t worry about us though. We have been getting milk delivered from Swenson’s Dairy Farm and ice cream from Goodie’s Drugstore since we moved here six months ago from Baltimore. We are perfectly fine.”
Annie stopped pushing.
“I should go start dinner,” Belinda said. “But first, I think we need to take you upstairs and get you something proper to wear.”
Annie smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“It is not your fault. Come,” Belinda directed.
Annie followed her up the stairs to a narrow hallway.
Belinda put a finger to her lips and pulled open a nearby door. Annie followed her in and eased the door shut.
“The babies,” Belinda said.
“Of course.”
The room, appearing to be just above the parlor, faced the street. The same white lace curtains hung in the windows. A smallish four-poster bed sat against one wall, the quilt an ecru with colorful flower embroidery. A festive floral-patterned beige carpet, two nightstands with lamps, a dresser, a wardrobe and several chairs completed the furnishings. A small stove heater took up one corner, though it was unlit.
Belinda walked over to the wardrobe and rummaged around in it. She looked over her shoulder as if to assess Annie before returning her attention to the closet.
“I think this will do, if you don’t mind something simple?” She pulled out some garments and looked at Annie questioningly.
“I’m sure whatever you loan me will be fine, Belinda. I’m really so grateful.”
“Here you are then!” She handed her a solid black serge skirt and a bit of white that turned out to be a long-sleeved blouse. “Do you need fresh undergarments?”
Annie blinked. “No, I don’t think so,” she began, unsure of what Belinda was talking about but dreading the suggestion of a corset. Annie recanted at the thought of wearing her underwear for more than a day. “Yes, I guess I do.”
Belinda nodded. “I was hoping you would say yes. I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t want to change.”
She walked over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer to produce various things in white. She crossed the room and laid them on the bed.
“Here are some hose, garters, drawers, chemise, a corset and a petticoat. I’ve also set out a nightgown for you.” Belinda dropped her eyes to Annie’s feet. “Your feet are much smaller than mine. Your shoes are lovely. I think they will suffice if it doesn’t snow while you’re here.”
Annie looked down at her flat shoes. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Thank you so much for all of this.” She swept her hand to encompass the clothing on the bed.
“Not at all. You’re family.” Belinda smiled. “I had better go downstairs and start dinner. Would you like to rest for a while before you come down?”
Annie shook her head, forcing back tears at Belinda’s inclusion of her as family. She didn’t seem to be able to stop crying. “No, thank you. Could I join you in the kitchen?”
“Certainly, though we’ll be very crowded in there.”
“That’s okay. The more the merrier,” Annie said with an airiness she didn’t feel.
“I will see you shortly then.” Belinda left the room.
Annie studied the clothing. She could only guess at the order of putting the garments on. She sorted the attire on the bed in what she thought of as a logical order—muslin lace-edged drawers, thick white ribbed silk stockings and blue satin garters, an embroidered muslin chemise, ruffled muslin petticoat, the white front-hooking corset, soft serge skirt and the high-necked white blouse with impossibly large puffed sleeves.
Annie stood back and eyed the vast array of clothing, thankful that she didn’t truly live in 1913...at least she fervently hoped so. Great to visit, but she didn’t want to stay. She slipped out of her shoes, dress, bra and panties, and slipped into, slipped on, reached behind to tie and buttoned down every last piece of clothing. As she hooked the last button at the back of her waist, she wished she could have taken Belinda’s offer to rest before going downstairs. Dressing in 1913 was exhausting!
She slipped into her shoes and walked over to see herself in an oval mirror above the dresser. She pulled the band from her chestnut shoulder-length hair and pulled it up toward the crown of her head. She rebanded it and wrapped the rest around the band to form a bun.
Pleased with her efforts, she turned for the door. Sudden discomfort told Annie that she had to use the restroom. She looked down at her clothing, trying to remember what was where and which was what.
With a sigh, she left the room and reconnoitered the hallway until she found the bathroom. Just as one might imagine a bathroom in 1913, the room featured white porcelain fixtures. A small blue carpet covered part of the hexagonal tile floor. The claw-foot tub didn’t look as if it bathed six children, and the sink sparkled. Belinda certainly kept a clean house.
Annie managed as best she could. The drawers had been designed for just such an event, and she did her best. Bless the early nineteenth century. They would figure things out soon enough. Slip on, slip off—just that easy. Easier for men, of course. Always.
She washed her hands and left the bathroom, tiptoeing down the hall so as not to awaken the babies. The lining of her skirt rustled attractively as she moved. The steep narrow stairs looked daunting, and she grabbed her skirts with one hand and hung on to the bannister with the other. Upon reaching the first floor, she followed the sounds of the children. The kitchen was packed with bodies. The boys sat beside each other at the table, jabbing, tickling and poking one anothe
r. Cathy and Claire stirred hot chocolate in a pot.
Belinda, setting potatoes out on the counter, spotted Annie.
“Annie! You look lovely! We are the same size, and I noticed that your hair and eyes are similar to ours. There is no doubt that we are related.”
“Yes,” Annie said shyly. She felt ridiculous in the clothing but hoped no one would notice how uncomfortable she was, how unused she was to wearing corsets and long skirts.
“All right, girls,” Belinda said, wiping her hands on an adorable white pinafore. “I need some room in here. Please take the hot chocolate—and your brothers—into the dining room. I’m sure Cousin Annie would like to sit down.”
“Almost done, Mama,” Claire said, stirring. Cathy left the stove and wrangled the boys into the dining room.
Annie could have laughed when Harry grabbed Teddie’s head under his arm and gave him a noogie...she could have laughed if she hadn’t felt so powerless to stop Teddie’s death. It didn’t matter when the historical records showed that he died. Those records didn’t show when or where he contracted the disease. If her cousin’s oral history was correct, then ice cream was the culprit, but when? Annie had no idea how long the incubation period was for typhoid between contamination and symptoms.
Annie sat down, the corset forcing her to sit erect, and she watched Claire and Belinda pour out cups of hot chocolate. Belinda set them on the tea service tray, and Claire disappeared into the dining room with the cups. The boys, still rambunctious in the next room, quieted down on the arrival of the hot chocolate.
The implications of the ever-present dairy consumption still weighed on Annie, and she prayed fervently that her cousin’s family history had been right about the ice cream.
Belinda busied herself preparing dinner, and Annie volunteered to help.
“Thank you, Annie! Could you peel the potatoes?”
“Sure!” Annie rose and walked over to the counter, where Belinda set out an inordinate amount of potatoes; Annie counted ten. Belinda handed her a paring knife.
“Do you have a potato peeler?” Annie asked.
Belinda shook her head. “No, I just use a knife. I set one on the counter there.”
