Chapter 31

As usual following a return to Downton from London, Anna was swept into a flurry of activity by Mrs. Hughes. John saw her only at meals for three days. He was concerned that Mrs. Hughes was again taking her frustrations out on Anna, but when he caught Anna lingering outside Lady Edith's bedroom she said that as two maids had quit and one had been dismissed while they were away, there really was a more work than usual. Mrs. Hughes had even apologized the one time she barked at her.

The morning of the village flower show, Anna received a letter. This was unusual, and was remarked upon by Miss O'Brien, who muttered something about a degenerate brother as she looked snidely at John over her tea. John didn't respond, though he looked at Anna. Her face was lined, and she sighed as she folded the letter and put it in her pocket. She tried to smile as she turned to John. Lord Grantham's bell rang. John hoped Anna would share her news with him. He had hoped the letter was from Gwen, but based on her reaction, it wasn't. He made his way upstairs.

John didn't see her again until it was time to leave for the flower show. She had missed luncheon, which was not unusual. She had changed her dress, and was wearing the new hat she had purchased in London. John thought he noticed an Irish lace pattern peaking out from the collar of her jacket. They lingered behind the others on the road. Daisy was walking with William, just ahead. Anna was lost in thought.

"Do you think the Dowager Countess will let old Mr. Molesley win again this year?"

Anna looked startled. She blinked rapidly. "What? Oh…well…maybe she'll give someone else a chance."

John could see her mind wandering again. He wished she'd tell him what was in that letter. Her demeanor had changed immediately upon reading it, and John wanted to know what news was troubling her. He wanted to let her know he'd like to help, if he could, that he'd like to know. John sighed. He realized he'd have to ask. A lone bird was chirping. Loudly. The day was grey and still.

"Anna, you seem…distracted." Was the bird following them? "Is something bothering you?" William and Daisy had disappeared from view. "Was there bad news in your letter?"

Anna was silent for a minute. "My sister in law is expecting. Again."

John looked into the woods that lined the road. Evidently this was not good news. He knew Anna's brother was not the best of husbands or fathers. He wondered if Anna's pensiveness was caused by that knowledge and consequent concern for her sister-in-law, or if it was rooted in some other sentiment. Jealousy, perhaps. Anna was not likely to have children.

"Again?"

"Again. This will be her ninth." Anna looked at her hands. "And my brother hasn't worked in months. He…well.. has a hard time keeping work."

"Poor thing." John pictured a woman, haggard and worn from child bearing, in a squalid dwelling with dirty children, fighting the advances of her brute of a husband.

"She's as bad as he is when it comes to drink." Anna sighed. "They want me to come home and stay with them when the baby comes."

John's heart stopped. His feet stopped as well. "Permanently?"

Anna laughed, grimly. "Goodness, no. Just to take care of my nieces and nephews while she's down."

"Will you?"

Anna looked around. The clouds were parting. Blue was peaking out. "I don't want to. I don't like my nieces and nephews. In fact, I don't really think I like children at all."

John looked at her curiously. He could see Anna with children; perhaps as a teacher or governess. It just seemed a natural fit. She had a gift for comforting, for nurturing, for being positive and caring. The small and weak should naturally be drawn to her.

"They just seem to run and make noise and never listen. But I've never been around many children, and I've never taken care of a baby."

"I thought all country girls were born understanding childcare." John grinned at her.

Anna smiled. "I was the youngest, and we had no extended family, and my mother was so disliked in Haworth no one ever called on her to help with babies. So I'm in blissful ignorance of the whole bloody business. Luckily I'll never have any."

John didn't detect any particular wistfulness in her voice. He was glad; he had never wanted children. They had reached that spot in the road where Anna had confessed her love. John brushed against her, light caressing her hand. She looked at him and smiled slowly.

"So will you go? It would be very easy to not be available."

"No, I won't go. I just wish they hadn't asked. Part of me feels like I should."

They had arrived at the village hall. Lady Sybil smiled brightly at them as they entered. Old Mr. Molesley again took the prize. Perhaps the Dowager Countess was making up for all the years she knew he should have won. They resumed their conversation on the walk home. The family would be out for the remainder of the day, so there was plenty of time for a leisurely stroll. The day had turned bright, with a breeze. John was puzzled by Anna's declaration regarding children. He had no reason not to trust her words, but her nature was so nurturing, so giving, motherhood seemed like a natural fit. They found a bench in the shade near the pond.

"Are you sure, Anna? You've never wanted children?"

Anna raised an eyebrow. "I thought we had this conversation last August. How many times do I have to tell you I'm sure?"

John smiled. "I suppose in some sense we did. You said you'd never dreamed of having a family. I would argue that that's somewhat different from wanting."

Anna looked straight ahead. She shook her head, slowly. "I wouldn't. Dreams are a form of a want." She removed her jacket. Her blouse had a single button on the back, at the top of the neck, exposing just an oval of creamy skin.

"Maybe I'm not explaining myself as well as I could. Most women, if married, have children. It doesn't follow that those children are always desired by the women. Women are trapped." She removed her hat. "They can either be wives and mothers, or can work in an office or a shop or as a maid. Ladies are just as trapped, perhaps more so. Look at the pressure to produce an heir in the great families." Anna nestled against John. "Even though I clean chamber pots and carry water up flights of stairs, I would rather do that and have some bit of freedom than be married and stuck at home with children." John put his arm around her waist. "Besides, children will never be an option for me, so why consider them?"

John kissed the top of her head. How did he ever manage to become so lucky? Most women were not so practical. Most women would resent him for his inability to become unmarried. Most women wanted what they could not have. He remembered his mother telling one of his dead sisters that many women longed to be mothers but they had no knack for it at all and those who were most terrified or even indifferent were often the best.

"Does your sister-in-law fall into that category? Trapped?" John wanted to kiss that spot of skin peaking through the blouse.

Anna chuckled. "In a way. She certainly acts like her children are a burden, and I'm sure my brother gives her little choice in the matter." Anna looked across the pond. A swan glided by. "But what about you? Why didn't you and Vera have children?"

John sighed. He had wondered from time to time why they didn't, but was glad. Children would have made the disaster that was their marriage even worse. Children would have suffered needlessly. He hated suffering. Anna was watching him. Another swan swam by. He had been silent too long.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't for want of trying." They both laughed. "I always assumed we would have children. As you said, most people do, but not always. I had never given children a thought one way or another, other than taking it for granted that we would have some." He lightly stroked the bit of skin. Anna shivered. "I'm not sure I actually wanted any, but if we had had any, I hope I would have done my best to look after them. Considering how badly things went between Vera and me, I'm glad it never happened." It was just possible to slip a finger under the fabric. Even though he'd taken far greater liberties than that lately, it still gave Anna goose bumps. "I was always drunk, and Vera…well…children would have suffered needlessly."

Anna shifted towards him. "Would children have gotten you to stop drinking?" Her eyes were so wide. So trusting. She smelled like sweat and powder and roses.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." John sighed. "Stopping drinking is easier said than done." He ran his finger between the top of her collar and her hairline. "What if you met someone who made you feel differently about the possibility of children?"

Anna sighed contentedly. "Well, the only man whose children I would ever consider having isn't offering that as an option, so I haven't concerned myself with it." She turned to him. "Why waste time worrying about something that may never happen? There are so many other things we could be doing."

Anna shifted and John was forced to lean backwards so she could arrange herself on top of him. John agreed there were many other things they could be doing.