Egg Shells
The next few weeks were greeted by family and friends visiting, creating an onslot plethera of chocolate cake and goodies. Mrs. Hammond was cordial, but her heart was growing heavy with grief. The callers eventually dissapated as time passed, leaving the family alone in the sad house. Anne watched as Mrs. Hammond gradually sunk into the depths of despair. She no longer talked, sang, laughed, or even cried. It had been 2 weeks since her musical fingers had graced the white and black piano keys which usually brought her much solace. Life no longer possessed any joy for her since Mr. Hammond was taken from her. The children were unable to stir any reaction from their mother, leaving Anne alone in their rearing. Mrs. Hammond was only capable of sitting in her husband's old chair grasping the flag that had been draped over his coffin and gazing out the large front window in the living room.
Today was no different. The fading summer sunshine gleamed through the freshly cleaned glass, playing with the new silver streaks starting to show in Mrs. Hammond's hair as she stared into the distant horizon from her perch. Birdie and Gusty sat at her feet, each one clinging to a stockinged leg trying to console their mother. Pain and fear were etched into their little eyes as they longed for their mother's affection and reassurance. Anne was at a loss of words or ideas. She didn't know how to approach Mrs. Hammond or deal with the questions the children hurled at her about their father. If only I knew how to help them, thought Anne to herself.
The way the house was situated, Anne was able to look in on the girls and their mother while she worked in the kitchen. She was busy tending to young Donald and Douglas in the kitchen. They were sitting at the table, tied in their chairs with two old dish towels to keep them seated still, running their fingers through the cool flour that remained on the table top from the noodles she had rolled and dried for dinner. The boys were completely engrossed in the simple activity, but it bought Anne more time to make dinner. She had made a simple broth using an onion and water, accompanied by a pinch or two of salt and a few shakes of pepper. Rolling bubbles in the pan let Anne know her broth was ready to add the noodles. Methodically, she added the dough, cut into strips, into the pan and covered it. Coos and giggles of joy turned her attention to the boys and a smile spread across her sullen face. Flour decorated the wee ones and they now resembled little white goblins playing in the kitchen.
Grabbing her dish rag, she began the process of wiping down the young ones and clearing the table for dinner. Anne's mind was beginning to ponder what she would feed the family tomorrow. There were only a few cans of vegetables and stew meat left in the pantry. A handful of dried beans and a small chunk of salt pork added a little variety to the dwindling supplies. Anne still had onions and a few potato plants remaining in the garden, but she was starting to worry about the oncoming winter. The chickens would be their only salvation. They could eat or sell the eggs, and if needed, she could butcher a chicken for dinner. If only Mrs. Hammond would help me, then I know things would be alright.
Hissing from the pot boiling over pulled Anne's mind from pondering meaningless "what ifs". She grabbed an old towel and folded it several times, and used it as a pot holder. Maneuvering the hot vessel from the stove onto the table was a task in itself, because she had to avoid the sweet flesh of the babies. Anne glanced over at Mrs. Hammond and noticed that the girls had left their vigil posts.
"Girls! Dinner!" yelled Anne above the clanking soup bowls as she set them on the table.
"Girls?"
Silence greeted her. They had to be up to something, somewhere. Anne peeked out the kitchen window and searched the back yard for any sign of them. Her blue eyes scanned the forlorn landscape. A windbreak of maple and cotton woods lined the yard from the fields, adding a colored patch of green to the dreary spot. The girls enjoyed playing under the trees, but there was no sign of them. Anne's eyes followed the intermittent patches of green and yellow grasses that used to be considered a lawn. Movement from the chicken coop caught her attention. Wings and feathers were fluttering about inside the fence. Blood rushed to Anne's face and neck as she processed where the young girls had to be.
In an instant, Anne was out the door with a boy on each hip. Anger flared up Anne's spine as she rushed to the chicken coop. Frantic squawks from the helpless chickens filled the still air. I swear I can hear those girls laughing while the poor chickens are fleeing for their life. Anne put the clinging boys on the ground and opened the latch that held the gate shut. Her stressed fingers fumbled around and finally allowed her to enter the chaos. A large brown setter, the best one in the brood, limped around clucking and flapping her wings. Anne feared that the hen had broken her leg in all the commotion, but decided to worry about that later. Right now, two young girls were up to mischief and she feared what she would find inside the coop. She cautiously stepped into the small outbuilding and let her eyes adjust to the diminished light.
Birdie and Gusty were pulling out the hay the hens used as nests and tossing about the eggs they found in their conquest. Egg shells and yolks were mixed on the floor and walls with hay and dirt. The young lasses were throwing away their food and money. Pure hate trickled up Anne's spine and used all her pent up emotions to unleash a tyriade on the surprised children. Words spewed out of her mouth onto the little scape goats who had triggered Anne's wrath. Colorful words that Anne shouldn't even know flooded out of her and tears accompanied them as Anne ranted and kicked the hay on the coop's floor about.
Those silly girls! How dare they jeopardize the whole family's well being on a little folly in the coop! Our best layer looks lame and will have to be eaten. The other hens will be so scared they probably won't lay eggs for a few days. Do they realize what they just did? Do they care? Nobody cares about us anymore, NOBODY! The Hammonds are no more. I am the only one keeping this place running and I can't even do that right! More cruel thoughts ran about her head as her tantrum continued on.
Finally, Anne looked into the sorrowful eyes of Birdie and Gusty. Regret took the place of her frustrations and soon Anne was on her knees huddling the scared girls tightly to her body. Sobs of grief and pain racked the small children's and her body. It felt good to release all the tension and fears building up, sadness compacted them causing her to crack like the eggs under a small jostling.
Signals
The release of Anne's emotions the night before helped her sleep soundly for the first time in weeks. She had regained a sense of serenity and the belief that God would make everything allright was fresh in her mind. Clouds hung in the sky, but she didn't let them dampen her spirits. She would take care of everything, somehow. With that resignation, she got ready for the day.
Anne picked out a simple white cotton dress printed with cherries. It buttoned up the front and down to her waist. She cinched it tight with a belt of yarn and slipped on her ankle socks. Her hair hung in two braids down her back as she held her head high and made her way to the kitchen. She would stoke the stove and then tend to her chores before the little ones awoke. Tenderly, she checked in on Mrs. Hammond.
Mrs. Hammond was still sitting in the chair in the living room, unfaltering in her grief. Dark circles hung under the anchored eyes that just stared out the window watching and waiting for Mr. Hammond's return to her. Vases of dried flowers still sat about in the bleak living room cluttering the shelves and a top of the silent radio. Anne longed to clean the flowers up and throw away the stagnate water left behind filling the bottoms of the vases. The flowers had cheered Mrs. Hammond up earlier, so there they sat. Anne was hoping that eventually Mrs. Hammond would come around, but it was becoming evident that she may never recover.
Did Mrs. Hammond blame herself for his death? Did she love him so strongly that she couldn't survive without him? These kind of thoughts tormented Anne as she worked in the barn milking the cows. Luckily, Mr. Hammond had shown her how to milk cows, even against Mrs. Hammond's urging that it was unlady like. Mr. Hammond had been like a father to her and Mrs. Hammond had been her mother. She had never known such kindness and acceptance before. The warm milk sprayed out of Bluebell's utters, splattering against the cool metal bucket. It was comforting to sit and do a task that Anne knew was going to do some good for her and the children. Maybe I could make ice cream with the extra cream tonight? I think we have enough sugar and extra ice in the ice box. Ice cream sounds so delicious. Mrs. Hammond might even be tempted to eat some of the sweet treat.
The crowing roosters welcomed Anne as she carried the bucket of milk to the back of the house. She covered the bucket with a cheese cloth and grabbed another bucket that held scraps from yesterday's meals and forged her way inside the hen house. With great efficiency, Anne added two scoops of the dwindling chicken feed to the scraps and tossed them around the chicken yard for the birds to eat. She didn't know what she would do if they ran out of feed. She couldn't get to town and even is she did get there she had no money. I will worry about that tomorrow, thought Anne as she gathered the eggs from under the reconstructed nests. Her best layer was still hobbling about, but Anne decided to give her one more day before deciding her fate.
"Anne!" screamed Gusty as she waved wildly behind the screened window of her room.
Anne peered up and waved at the girl. Skipping, she made her way back to the house and entered the kitchen to greet the hungry children. Today they would eat eggs and the last of the bread. The cast iron skillet heated up and the slabs of butter melted, allowing Anne to crack the white oval containers and drop their insides on the bottom of the pan. Popping and sizzling egg whites comforted Anne as she dutifuly watched them cook on the stove. The children sat around the table in their nightgowns anxiously awaiting their breakfasts. All was right with the world for the moment.
By early afternoon, the clouds outside had grown darker and lowered over the horizon. Darkness closed in on the small family, making Anne contemplate turning on the electric lights. The air was eerily still, not even the birds were singing or fluttering about. Anne knew what this could mean and began opening windows in the house in case a twister did blow up. Cleverly, she manipulated the children into putting an old puzzle together on the kitchen floor while she tended to the animals outside. Thunder was rumbling in the distance and lightning zagged across the turning sky. Anne prayed that it would only rain and the impending storm would hit somewhere else far away from her and the Hammonds. The cows were very upset and wouldn't calm down as Anne put them in their stalls. The sow sniffed the air in her pen, like she was searching for clues among nonexistent wind. A strong cold breeze blew past Anne and lifted her skirt up as she slammed the barn door shut. The chickens would have to be smart enough to get out of the elements and bunker down in their coop. Anne ran back into the house to watch the children and the weather.
Sprinkles of rain began hitting the windows and ground as Anne entered the kitchen. The children looked up from their work and showed Anne how they had put the puzzle together. They had the right idea, but the pieces were crammed into any opening creating a collage of mismatched pictures. Anne laughed heartily at their efforts and sat down to demonstrate how the puzzle should be put together. Rain lashed against the house and thunder shook the glass windows. Minutes later, the clouds had rushed past the farm and a rainbow gleamed against the dark clouds racing onward.
Sighing with relief, Anne put the young children down for their naps. Mrs. Hammond stirred in her seat as Anne came back down the stairs. Anne stopped in her tracks and examined the lady. She was finally resting and getting some sleep. Anne went about her afternoon chores of dusting and doing the dishes. The sun beat down on the little house in full August glory, warming up the house and reminding Anne that it was still summertime.
With all her work done for the moment, she grabbed a small novel of Mrs. Hammonds and snuck into the living room and seated herself on the couch. It had been a few days since Anne was able to steal a moment for herself, let alone read. Her hands ran over the smooth red case and caressed the bind. Twisting her wrist, she flicked open the book and began reading a poem about the Highway man. She was so caught up in the drama that she didn't notice Mrs. Hammond turn her head and look at Anne.
"Anne, you look so beautiful there reading. Peaceful," stated Mrs. Hammond out of the blue.
Anne stared at the woman almost in shock. She actually talked! Today is a turning point for all of us.
"Where are my darlings?" questioned the forlorn mother who was appearing to be on the mend.
"They are ... upstairs... napping," gawked Anne, still not believing her eyes or ears.
"I will have to see them and give them kisses as soon as they wake," said the woman as tears began to well up in her eyes.
"He's not going to come back to me," whispered Mrs. Hammond.
A few moments later, Mrs. Hammond looked at Anne and complemented, "Anne, you have taken great care of my family. You are truly ablessing. I know I can trust you with them."
They sat in silence and looked out the window together. The children broke the mesmerized spell that took over the women. Mrs. Hammond's lips parted into a forgotten smile at the sight of her daughters and sons, it was the first time in weeks since anybody had seen her smile. The children ran into the arms of their mother and eagerly accepted her sweet kisses.
Swiftly, the beaming mother stood and announced, "I feel so much better today. I think I will go outside for some fresh air and to stretch my legs."
And with that, she was out the door. Anne was so relieved that Mrs. Hammond was up and about, so she decided that she would start the ice cream for desert now and the children could play outside while she cranked the freezer. Soon the family was outside enjoying the release of tension Mrs. Hammond's smile had brought.
Birdie and Gusty sat among the lilac bushes playing in the little shade it offered. Enthralled, they sat and built fairy houses out of sticks and twigs. Anne had shown them how to bend and weave them last week and now the girls had mastered the art. Scraps of fabric, ribbons, aluminum, and other shiny objects that could be found were included to entice the fairies to their new residence. Anne had given the girls a small bowl to use as a bathtub for the fairies and at night, she would sneak out and put a little dirt in the water to give the illusion that someone had bathed in it. One night, Anne went as far to sprinkle salt among the structure so the girls would see real fairy dust. It kept the girls busy and out of her hair.
Donald and Douglas sat in the dirt by the back door and played in the wet sand. It must feel cool on their fingers and toes. Anne's arms were growing tired, but the effort was definetly worth the reward of cold ice cream. Especially on a day like this. She stopped and shook her tingling arm. The cow in the barn was bellowing loudly, but it wasn't milking time. Something must be wrong. Anne stood up and shielded her eyes from the glaring sun. Smoke was coming from the barn!
Anne grabbed the children and penned them inside the chicken coop's fencing. Atleast she wouldn't have to worry about them getting under foot or wandering off. She latched the gate and ran using long strides toward the barn. Smoke already filled the barn by the time Anne had unlatched the heavy doors. She reached her arms out and patted her way around searching for an old horse blanket or something. The coarse weaved wool finally met her fingertips and she grabbed the blanket. Smoke began sifting out the doors, allowing Anne to see the general area the smoke was coming from.
Anne coughed and stumbled her way toward the back of the barn. As she went, she opened the gates on the livestock's pens giving them the chance to run. Swirls of dark gray smoke danced about her, but she didn't give up. The family needed the barn for the animals. Anne kicked an empty bottle of kerosene laying on the floor. Strange, that was not there before. Screams of agony came from the far East corner and the smoke finally spread out enough allowing Anne to see Mrs. Hammond writhing on the floor covered in flames.
Anne forced her sore arms to lift the thick blanket and try to smother the flames engulfing Mrs. Hammond's body. Smoke billowed out of the barn and high into the sky. The beating of the blanket and rolling of Mrs. Hammond made the gray haze look like smoke signals beaconing help to the neighbors. Anne didn't stop until Mrs. Hammond's dress was smoldering from the extinguished flames. Mrs. Hammond looked up and glowered at Anne with her blistered face.
"How could you? How could you? I was on my way to meet him! How could you let me live?" yelled Mrs. Hammond.
Anne sat on her knees just staring at the distraught woman. She didn't know what to do or say. The distant sounds of the crying children or crunching gravel under a car's wheels didn't even arouse Anne. Finally, a firm hand grabbed her shoulder and helped her stand. A kind elderly gentleman led her back into the house.
"My sister and I were passing by to go visit the Blythe's when we saw the smoke. I am sure more neighbors are on their way. I am Matthew Cuthbert," spoke the gentleman softly to Anne.
"Why? Why did Mrs. Hammond do this?" cried Anne into the man's shoulder.
"You did right by helping the Mrs. out. Don't let her words make you think otherwise," wisely comforted Matthew to Anne.
He opened the kitchen door and let her into the house. The children were seated around the table enjoying the half frozen ice cream Anne had been making. An older lady sat at the table talking with the girls and mopping up the spills the boys made down their chins.
"Marilla, this is Anne. She was in the barn," stated Matthew, trying not to waste any extra words.
"Hello, Anne, I didn't see any sense in letting good ice cream go to waste. Have a seat and dry your tears. We will take care of things for the moment. Would you like a bowl?" asked the lady.
Anne shook her head no. How could I eat after seeing that? It didn't matter to Marilla that Anne didn't want any.
The lady stood tall and began maneuvering around the kitchen. Her graying dark hair was twisted tightly into a bun and she wore old circle spectacles. Her dress was a sensible brownand iteven matched her shoes. She was the perfect image for a spinster if Anne had ever seen one.