Chapter 11
June 1927
The summer had been glorious, though as yet they were barely in it. Pleasantly warm sunshine rested on the back of her neck, reminding her of days long past. It was wise for her to have taken out a shawl as it would only grow warmer as the afternoon went on – and her body temperature was already higher than usual, thanks to the considerable weight she was carrying, but she wouldn't have changed it for the world. Having a few more glasses of water to compensate was a small price to pay, even if she did also have to make more trips to the toilet, too.
The garden was the most perfect place in which to while away these long but absolutely blissful afternoons. Compact rather than small, it had been woefully neglected until the end of the year gone by. Well, they had both always been busy with work, and making the inside of the cottage homely and comfortable was their main priority. There had been other things getting in the way as well; the pitfalls of life, pain that had been characterised by its pointlessness. And yet none of it could have been avoided.
She had planted an iris that autumn, remembering within the fog of her despairing mind that it was a symbol of faith and hope. Her own hope had taken so many knocks that she needed something to bolster it again, help her along through the darkest of days and longest of nights with only the memory of him and the desperate prayers that wherever he was, he was safe from harm. That hardy little plant had weathered the rain and sometimes storm-force winds, thriving over the past few seasons and coming into its third year, blooming more beautifully than ever. It was kept company by an array of other flowers which were beginning to fulfil their own unique beauties just as well, having been planted as the last few days of the winter just gone made way for spring. Now that summer was here they could make the most of them, appreciate the fruits of their labour – which had been accompanied by more laughter and glee than tears and toil.
Birds flapped their wings in the blue sky and sang their melodic calls to one another, enjoying the day just as much. John had spent his evenings and some of his free time in the early spring fashioning two bird boxes out of scraps of wood that had gone unused up at the Abbey, and they had provided shelter amongst the trees and the conditions that had been harsher until recently. His own burgeoning hobby had provided her with one as well, and she delighted in watching them come and go, happy that their little garden could provide such a pleasing home – if it was only temporarily. She did notice that there were a few birds that returned regularly, and her heart filled with pride to notice them, as much as she also got excited when she spotted new ones with unusual and beautiful markings or curious, exquisite songs.
She was taking it easier this time around. It was rather the wrong way round, she admitted to herself; she felt much stronger, more assured, less alarmed at the slightest ache or pang. The ligament pain was familiar to her from before and she kept a couple of towels almost permanently soaked in hot water, spending the days when it was a particular strain with her feet up, reading a book. Of course her mind was still prone to wandering and sometimes – though far more rarely – stumbling upon the worst. A few chants of bad harvest to herself, and some uttered aloud for good measure, and things were put to rest. She had the birds to watch, did some baking here and there, made sure that the cottage was still kept in the condition she was accustomed to with her own exacting standards. She was never short of tasks to occupy her.
And there was William, and the way he was growing before her very eyes, from a seed so carefully nurtured and protected to a sunflower that thrived on the fine days but loved the rain just as much. She had to use all of her might to keep him inside when the weather took a turn for the worse, ushering him away from toddling towards the door, looking up at her with wide eyes the colour of far brighter skies. He would have stayed out in the garden all day if he was allowed, probably curling up against the flowerbeds to sleep as the moon watched over him. The pair of them often joked that when he was older and started to get curious as to where he came from they would give him the explanation that they stumbled across him in a walk through the fields, nestling within a cabbage patch.
Sometimes it needed to rain, the plants wanted a good drink, she would explain to him when he gazed at her hopefully, unable to form the questions that were filling his mind just yet. The sun will come out again, don't you worry. It'll be waiting for you when it does. She braced her hands around his pudgy sides, smiling brightly at her darling boy where they were both happily dry, watching curiously as the droplets trickled their way down the window. 'Where's William?' he will say. 'He always likes to see me, he always loves to play.'
The little refrain rung in her head as she sat watching, though the sun was definitely at his best today. Will had begun to take his first steps in hardly any time after he had started speaking, and though her heart was always close to seizing up when his little legs went shakily, she was amazed at the bursts of pride that were stronger within her every time he hopped or leaped, testing himself yet further. Running was his favourite thing at this very moment in time; he whirled back and forth and in circles across the patches of grass, giggling in delight at the movement of his own feet beneath him.
"Mumma," he shouted, his exertions leaving him not out of breath in the slightest, his arms stretching out in the air and pointing towards where she sat in the chair that had been retrieved from the kitchen. "Mumma, run!"
Anna couldn't stop herself from laughing at his innocence or otherwise his honest belief in her ability to do anything that was possible in the world, even when she had a bump so large that it required an effort of some enormity for her to crane forward enough to be able to glimpse her feet.
"I'm afraid I can't, sweet-pea." Her hands stretched and rubbed over her stomach, doing the rest of the explaining for her. "Mumma can watch you, though. You're going faster than the wind."
He looked deeply disappointed, his bottom lip jutting forward and his eyes pleading. A look that tugged at her heart strings, if there was ever one designed to do precisely that. But in the next minute he was back to it, charging the length of the garden, rearing up to where the grass ended and the flowerbed began, leaning forward curiously at the silken petals of different colours and the softly humming bees who were going about their important duties. His little back was still, his head bent in what she could tell was a quiet fascination which held as much respect as it did a myriad of questioning. And then he turned, a wide smile forming on his rosy-pink mouth, his arms curving from his sides as he readied himself to bound back again.
Sometimes she found herself thinking; it would have been wrong to prevent herself from doing so, and she never wished to forget, as raw as it still was. She watched him run and heard him laugh, her dearest baby boy, and couldn't stop herself from bringing them to mind - though they were never far away. The children that had been lost, the dreams that never had the chance to take hold in full bloom. What kind of personalities and traits they would have had, which one of them they would resemble more. Some nights she would see them in her dreams, watching them just as closely as she was watching William now. She felt sorrow but was not overwhelmed with it, as she had expected to be the first time she had awoken from such a vision. Instead she was possessed by peace most of all. Perhaps they were her very own guardian angels, keeping a watch over them, blessing them with the joy they had always meant to give.
There was William, who wasn't aware of all the happiness he gave simply by running about, discovering the world a little bit further each day. There was the new baby, curled up comfortably within her and giving just the same amount of joy. Both of them rivalled the sunshine that streamed from the sky, casting her shadow and by nature that of the unborn child down onto the grass as she took gentle and slow steps forth.
"I can't run, not for a little while," she announced, smiling towards Will as he stopped in his tracks, glancing towards her. She inched closer towards him, arms held out poised and fingers flexed. "But I can...do...this!"
Their laughter matched one another's, Anna's fingers dancing along as they issued tickles to her little boy. He was giggling himself silly as she continued, and for as long as she lived she was quite certain that she would never be aware of a more beautiful sound.
She was able to lift him a little aloft, holding him tightly beneath his arms. His eager legs swung against the air while she transported him over to the chair; there was still enough room for him to sit on her lap, if she shifted a certain way. It would do him well to have a little rest, he'd feel renewed to go even faster in a little while.
His hands placed themselves automatically against the swell of her stomach, rubbing gently and curiously, and Anna beamed at her son's actions. He looked up at her and she could make out every single freckle that were dotted underneath his eyes, more noticeable than they were most of the year given the fineness of the season.
"It won't be too long at all," she told him softly, though she recognised that their respective concepts of time were still quite different indeed. He likely expected that the summer would last the equivalent of years, when the baby would arrive as it was rounded off. "It's going to be very exciting."
He nodded quite seriously, looking ever so much like John when he wore such an expression. His hair was getting a little too long, so that he had to shake his head often to keep it out of his eyes. There would be call for a trim quite soon. The sailor suit that he wore, a gift passed down from Lady Mary before she had known she was having another son, still fit quite well but Anna knew that it probably wouldn't do when next summer came around.
"And you'll be such a wonderful big brother. The very best."
They had been referring to him as a big brother for a little while, though they didn't want to go out of their way to make anything feel different. Honestly, the fact of it was probably more exciting to her and John than it was to William. Letting Will know about the baby had been the happiest prospect for the both of them, even though he was still a little too young to know what it really meant – at least until the baby had arrived and made its presence very well known. But they were a family, and sharing in the joy of a new member was the most special when shared between them all, first and foremost. Other people found out gradually, and in most cases entirely naturally. Now that she no longer worked at the Abbey it was less common for her to see her former colleagues and associates, unless she was out with William in the village or needed to bring something necessary up to John while he was there during the day. It wasn't out of any superstition that they kept it mainly to themselves, and they were more than content to revisit their own elation when their friends expressed what wonderful news it was and how very happy they were to know that their number would be expanding.
Anna found herself growing serious, covering Will's small hands that rested upon her tummy with her own, curving her fingers around his thumbs.
"You must remember; however much we love the new baby, Daddy and I love you just the same."
That was something that was never in doubt to her, but she wanted to take every opportunity to let her boy know just how cherished he was.
William stared up at her with those wide, wonderful eyes that always sought to see so much.
She placed one arm around his back, hugging him closer to her body, not caring that she could feel herself flushing with a surge of heat.
"You will always be our first baby, and we love you so very much." She smiled, brushing his fringe out of his eye-line with gentle fingers. "We love you more than you can ever know."
He smiled wide in return, and Anna felt that she had said quite enough – hopefully for the rest of time, although she was aware that the odd few reassurances would probably be needed, some years down the line.
She felt William jump slightly, his hands moving from their place upon her stomach and a surprised expression upon his little face. The sensation was so commonplace to her by now – indeed in the last few weeks the baby had been wriggling and kicking so much that she had hardly had any rest – that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. But William had not encountered it as yet, and the curiosity in his look made her smile giddily.
"The baby's saying hello to you, sweet-pea," she informed him, guiding his palms back to her bump, not quite in the spot where the baby kicked most fiercely. "See, it's excited about meeting you already."
She focused intently on the fluttering within her, smiling to see that William was doing the same, pressing a little firmer with his hands but still being just as careful as always.
"Hello, baby," he exclaimed, wriggling himself and angling his mouth to his mother's stomach, feeling the kicks come quicker.
Anna glanced from her son's fair head up to the cloudless sky for a moment, letting her tears of happiness ebb away of their own accord. She was soon laughing again as he pressed his ear to her, trying to listen as well as feel the movements of his little brother or sister. One hand rested on the top of the large swell while her other threaded itself into William's soft sandy-coloured hair, warm to the touch.
They spent some time listening to the songs of the birds as they flitted in and out, and then William made his way with a little assistance onto the ground again, chasing butterflies and hopeful that he would be able to catch one this time. Anna felt the flapping of wings inside of her and couldn't help the cause all that much, but she did manage to turn in slow circles, the slight breeze dancing around her, her eyes watching tiny white flutterings and little hands reaching upwards.
She kept an observant gaze on William, hoping that he wouldn't get too dizzy from spinning so much, though that didn't seem to be a problem. It was John's gentle laughter that she discovered first, watching them both from where the small yard flowed into the grass. She righted her feet on the ground, her hands placed on William's shoulders.
"I should have known that I'd find you out here."
"Where else would we be on such a lovely day?"
John smiled, not getting very far forward before William became fully aware of his presence and launched himself at his father. He didn't need to be told to go easy, but his enthusiasm for another evening return shone through.
"Is it six o'clock already?" Anna asked, John nodding his response. "You lose all track of time when you're outside." She looked to Will, who was hugging onto his father's legs. "Here we've been, chasing butterflies when we should have been thinking about dinner."
"You know very well that I'll take care of that," John replied.
The routine had been the same for a couple of months now, despite her arguing that she was entirely capable and that it seemed very unfair after he'd been at work for so many hours, though some less than before. She didn't complain about having a husband who was so attentive and so eager to pamper her. She had quite the job too, he was keen to remind her; one that hardly allowed for breaks or relief.
She smiled fondly as he rolled up his sleeves to over his elbows, ready to make a start.
"I did put an apple crumble in the oven." Those apples had been piling up ever since the spring, and she was starting to be tired of the sight of them, though John always enjoyed the taste. The grin on his face spoke loud of his joy at the treat. "Not the best idea I've had when it's been as warm as it has. The bottom has probably burnt out of it by now."
He laughed again, lifting William upwards and letting his cane fall into the grass.
"We'll still make sure every last crumb is eaten," he affirmed, "won't we, Will?"
"Yes!"
Anna shook her head in amusement, knowing that their son would agree with anything his father said and that both of them would do anything to please her.
They left the door into the garden open as dinner was cooked and served, Anna especially glad for the breath of air, her feet bare upon the kitchen tiles. The smell of the garden vegetables and chicken had her mouth watering and John served her a sizeable portion – which at this stage she didn't refuse, and looked sweetly towards him as she wondered aloud if there were any seconds to be had. Thankfully the apple crumble turned out to be golden brown as opposed to irretrievably charred, and anyway, the cream doused away any knowledge to the contrary.
John led in the conversation – she didn't have all that much to contribute, aside from passing on Mrs Tripp's latest gossip from the village. He smiled as he divulged the news of the day from the Abbey. Lady Edith – or the Marchioness of Hexham, to give her the proper title – was with child, and everyone was delighted. Even Lady Mary had expressed her happiness, in her own peculiar way (according to his Lordship, her initial response had been "well, it's about time. Edward is almost walking, I thought she would be quicker off the mark."). Anna shared the sentiments second-hand, feeling her own excitement grow. Her mother always used to say that things came in threes. Daisy was still a bit too young and not yet married. John brought up Mrs Patmore – which was absurd, of course, but went on to reason that she was the owner of a house of ill-repute, after all. At the mere mention Anna erupted into giggles, which set off John in turn. William was keen to join in with his parents and even the baby was included, tumbling about in time with Anna's helpless laughter.
The lighter nights brought an energy which the darker ones lacked. Anna sat knitting for a while once she had settled William to bed, the urge to do so still strong within her. If it was right that a cold winter followed a pleasant summer then their new child certainly would be well-stocked once the season arrived. Tomorrow she thought that she would start on some new woollens and a scarf for William; it was never too early.
The door was still open as she went into the kitchen to fetch another glass of water, and she smiled as her husband's figure came into view. Merely looking from the window would not do for her.
The shirt of his uniform was gone; his braces were pulled down from the shoulders of his undershirt, leaving the curve of his spine visible underneath as he leaned in concentration. A new flush rose up into Anna's head, her last few steps unsteady as she found herself entranced and fascinated by John and how very attractive he looked. He was always handsome, dressed in his smartest attire or in those nearing thread-bare pyjamas that he was insistent not to dispose of. But there was something particular about his appearance on nights such as this; he fitted the landscape perfectly, almost as if he had been painted in with the most skilful hand. His hair was looser, hanging over his forehead, and the dusting of hair upon his bared forearms made her quite flustered indeed.
He turned at the waist, a little surprised but also pleased to find her hands resting upon him, one upon his back and the other at his middle.
"You should have your feet up," he uttered, his voice more amused than it was scolding. He turned fully to her, making her shift the position of her hands. His undershirt was slightly damp to the touch, more than it should have been if he was simply standing amidst the fine evening.
"I've been off them for nearly all of the day," she retorted. "Besides, I was admiring my wonderful, strong, handsome husband. And I find I can do that far better when I get up close. Even better when I can touch."
He chuckled, covering her hand with one of his own upon his chest.
"I thought that I might make a swing for William. The tree's sturdy enough that it would hold it." He leaned back a little, as if to prove the tree's worth. "There's enough wood that I could fashion a seat, it'd be quite safe. And it might look rather good painted red."
Anna beamed up at him, his voice so rapt in wonder.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing," she replied, unable to take the smile from her face. "You've become quite the handyman. Here's me thinking I'd married a quiet, bookish man, and all along you've been hiding your primal side."
He scoffed. "I'd hardly call it that."
Unfailingly modest, but he couldn't hide the way that his eyes sparked, glowing a honeyed amber in the slowly falling light. His eyes were quite possibly her favourite feature of his, so full of soul and life and endless love that stole her breath away.
"I like making our house a home. Doing things I'd almost never made myself dare to dream of."
His hand made a slow path to the swell of her stomach, resting flat. She stayed staring into those eyes, and felt herself glow with pride when she glimpsed tears starting to form in them. No matter how many times he experienced the baby's kicks through placing his hand upon them, he always reacted as if it was his very first knowledge.
They shared in the special moment, the baby quite awake and listening out for the nightcalls of the birds nestling above.
"I know we won't be here forever," he continued as they exchanged another glance of understanding. "But while we are, I want it to be special. It's our children's first home, and I want them to remember it as a place they loved. A place full of memories."
So many memories, each one bringing a smile to her heart. From carrying William out here when he was a bundle in arms on the first truly fine day they'd had since he was born, to just a few weeks ago when he felt particularly mischievous and saw fit to run off with John's cane clutched in his hand whilst John was preoccupied, giggling loudly while the pair of them were left stranded and finding it just as hilarious.
The blooms of the iris were striking in their beauty, looking at their peak. Things went in circles.
"Our memories will be with us wherever we go," she uttered, catching his gaze with her own, fitting her fingers in the spaces between his, "but I am glad we've made them here."
John brought their entwined hands back to rest on Anna's bump, and they both smiled to think of another child making themselves gleefully happy here; crawling, running, picking flowers, swinging high enough to touch the sky.
"Just promise me you won't be out here all night," she said, thinking again of William and how he would spend all hours out of doors if possible. "You can still catch a chill at this time of year."
"Oh, that won't be a problem," he answered, letting his hand wander tenderly across her stomach. "I still have to admire my beautiful, spirited, utterly amazing wife as she gets changed for the night."
She smirked at the glint in his eyes, holding his hand as they started the slow pad back inside.
"I suspect you might have to help her with that. She's not finding it as easy as she used to."
"It would be my pleasure," he offered her a smile. "There's nobody else I'd rather assist."
She smiled back up at him, set against the pink and lilac sky. "Don't let his Lordship hear you say that."
A/N: Happy Mother's Day in the UK to Anna, and all other mamas out there! :)
