Chapter 41
John took out his watch for at least the fourth time in the last hour. Five minutes has passed since he had last checked. The train had only reached Harrogate. It was going to be a long trip.
Mrs. McGuinness had telephoned the previous afternoon just as the staff was sitting down to their Christmas tea. The Christmas celebrations this second year of the war were subdued. Only Lady Rosamund was staying. Mrs. McGuinness was talking very fast when John got to the telephone in Mr. Carson's office. His mother had taken a turn, and could he come to London. From what Mrs. McGuinness described, John believed his mother had suffered some sort of mild stroke. John urged her to find a doctor, and assured her he would be there the next day.
Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson had immediately expressed concern when he returned to the table, but John didn't want his bad news to diminish the festive atmosphere. He had smiled, and said he would need to be in London for a few days. Anna looked concerned, but she didn't ask. He didn't want to mar the day for her. John sighed, and tried to settle into his seat. He liked Christmas, in spite of himself. The mystical reasons behind the holiday were utter nonsense, and yet there was something in it that appealed to John. He wasn't sure. Christmas wasn't one of those times when he wished he could believe, but there was something about the quiet peacefulness of the day, the sense of happiness and togetherness and joy. He was sure he would never understand.
John hadn't been entirely certain the trains would be running on Boxing Day. When he told Lord Grantham that he would need to be away, Lord Grantham had commented it was difficult enough to look after an ageing mother when she all but lived with them. He couldn't imagine doing it at a distance of 200 miles. John did notice that he seemed a bit wistful as he said it.
Snow had fallen overnight. Christmas morning had been snowless, but it had begun to snow during dinner, lightly. When morning came the ground was covered. John had been up earlier than usual. He had taken a few minutes from his packing to look at the land from his window. The sky was bright, the ground was shiny, and the trees were laden. He didn't have the chance to tell Anna about his mother until after dinner. Once the family was settled for the evening, the staff had a small party in the servants hall. Daisy had hung holly. She had given him a spare sprig, and John had tucked it into his button hole. Mr. Carson disapproved, but there was nothing he could do about it. John had slipped outside when William and Mr. Carson began singing carols. They had talent, but John needed the stillness. Anna had been dancing with Mr. Branson and was on the other side of the hall when John left. He wasn't sure she had seen him until he felt her touch on his sleeve.
"Lovely Christmas, isn't it?" The snow was falling slowly, caught in the few lights in the courtyard.
"It has been a very nice day." Anna stepped closer so John could wrap his arm about her shoulders. "You and Mr. Branson make a dashing couple."
Anna giggled. "He's so energetic. I don't mind at first, but I can't take much dancing with him. I think he jerked my arm." She rubbed it. "Did you know his family has a dancing troupe back in Ireland? The Bouncing Bransons or something daft like that."
John chuckled. "Should I speak to him?" She snuggled closer. "Or is this your subtle way of saying you prefer an old man with a limp whose dancing days are past?"
Anna looked at the sky. It was starry, even with the snow. "I seem to recall you being an excellent dancer. I was hoping we might have another chance." She had holly in her bun.
"I can't promise that I'll be back in time for the servants ball." Anna turned away from the sky towards him. "I have to leave for London in the morning. My mother's had a spell of some sort and I need to check on her."
"What does that mean, had a spell?" Anna looked concerned. "I had hoped to go with you next time you saw your mother." The strains of The Star Above the Garter drifted from the hall.
John sighed. "I know, I had hoped so too, but from what I was told, I think she had a stroke. I can't wait until we can both go." The party seemed to have gone over to dancing. He heard what he thought was Christmas Day in the Morning on a fiddle played by the new hallboy, a Scottish fellow. "Mrs. McGuinness was to telephone again if the doctor thought it was serious, but I can't delay."
Anna drew closer. "I'm so sorry. You do need to go. You'll leave early?" John noticed she wasn't wearing anything over her dress.
"Yes." Anna shivered. The snow was sparkling. "Some good can come of it. I plan to try to see Vera."
Anna was quiet. A cardinal landed on a crate. "Be careful."
John was quiet. Be careful. Excellent advice. He intended to be, but he was always careful, until he lost his temper. The way snow made the land quiet and still was a marvel. John felt alive. He couldn't afford to lose his temper. "I'll try." He kissed her head. It was cold. "Shall we rejoin the party?" Mr. Branson was leaping across the room with Daisy to The Wind that Shakes the Barley.
Anna smiled and took his arm. "Yes, let's." That dance might be a possibility after all.
The train had reached Pontefract. A surprising amount of passengers got on. Vera's letter. Even though plenty of seats were empty, an old lady squeezed in across from John. She smiled, and hoped he didn't mind and that he had had a pleasant holiday. John wasn't in the mood to talk, but he didn't want to be rude. Left to his own devices, John would have delayed opening Vera's letter until it was no longer his birthday. He and Anna had had such a wonderful day, a much-needed wonderful day, and he didn't want it to be forever marred with news from Vera. Anna hadn't insisted he open it, but she did say there was no sense in delaying. They had opened their letters together, read them, and switched. John disliked Anna's brother intensely. The old lady was offering him a slice of fruit cake. He declined. It looked sweet and sticky. She was on her way to London to see her daughter. John offered he was on his way to see his mother. She smiled. Such a good young man. She had her knitting and her cake and hoped she wouldn't bother him too much, but she did hate to sit alone. It wasn't a bother at all. Anna's brother wanted her to agree to move in with them when her sister in law had her latest child. Permanently. He had made several insulting comments about her marriage prospects, and her duty to her family, and hinted at needing her savings. Anna had no intention of going, but even so, John wanted to pummel the man just on principle. The old lady had started her knitting. She said something about the snow. John agreed. He had no idea what he said.
Anna had read Vera's letter quietly, slowly, refolded it, and handed it back to John. He had read the letter from her brother three times over by then. Anna had cleared her throat, quietly, and asked him what he intended to do. John was so distracted by Edward Smith's presumptions he hadn't thought about Vera. The old lady seemed to be knitting socks. Vera hadn't given away much. She rarely did. She said only that she had been thinking about their last correspondence, and thought there were a few points worth discussing. John hadn't dared hope, not after the last time. John had said he would think very carefully before he did anything. Anna had smiled, kissed his cheek, and gone to change. Vera had not marred his birthday. The train stopped again. It was going to be a long trip. His leg was stiff from the cold and his seat. He would walk a bit.
The carriage wasn't crowded. Another old lady was travelling with her dog, who wanted to run between John's leg and his cane. He and Anna had met later on Christmas night, to exchange their gifts and say goodbye. It was so late it was barely still Christmas, but the air still had that sense of peace. Anna had changed into her nightclothes, John had taken off his collar and tie and replaced his jacket with his old sweater. Anna was already in her chair at the table when John returned to the hall. She had made more tea, and set out two mince pies. John paused in the door before he entered the room. Anna was looking towards the window, watching the glowing snow with her shawl drawn tight over her dressing gown. The lights were dim, and she glowed like the snow. John kissed her head as he slid into his chair. She blinked and tilted back her head, grinning.
"Are you all packed?" Anna poured his tea.
"No." Evidence of the Christmas party remained in the hall. "I don't envision much sleep tonight. I'll pack then."
"I'm so sorry. I wish I could go with you." So did John. It was selfish.
He sighed. "I know. It was bound to happen sooner or later, the way she's been lately." The tea was strong yet mellow. "I'm just glad Mrs. McGuinness found her soon after it happened. She had apparently just blacked out on the settee and dropped her tea cup." It was perfect. "I wish you could go as well."
Anna smiled. "You'll telephone if you need me? I am owed the time, and I don't care what anyone says about me going."
John kissed her cheek. "I may telephone just to hear your voice. Now wouldn't that be the scandal?" She giggled and leaned back, kissing him in earnest. He felt her shiver under her thin nightgown as his hands skimmed along her waist. It had been far too long.
Anna stopped first. She was serious again, but John loved the glow in her eyes. "I know you don't think it will help, but I'll pray for your mother."
"I don't think that it won't help." It was more complicated than that. "She'll appreciate it, and you believe it will help, and prayer certainly never hurt." The fire needed to be poked. "She loves you too."
Anna grinned as John tended the fire. "Please tell her I'm due for another tatting lesson."
"I will. She'll have to recover for that." He hoped his mother was still able to remember something about it. He knew so little about strokes, but if he knew his mother at all, she'd be do whatever she had to in order to recover. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, Christmas is all but over and I have something here with your name on it."
Anna's face lit up. "That's intriguing. I have something here with your name on it." A large book-shaped package appeared next to him on the table, as he produced his own small parcel for Anna.
"A necktie. How did you know?" Anna bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Her shoulders shook slightly. John winked, and peeled off the paper to reveal Of Human Bondage. "I've been reading about this." He opened to a passage that struck him as beautifully sad, but true. It was one of the queer things of life…saw a person every day…so intimate with him…could not imagine existence without him; then separation…and everything went on…and the companion who had seemed essential proved unnecessary. He couldn't have agreed more, yet some people became more and more necessary to existence with each passing day. "Thank you." He kissed her cheek. "It's perfect. I'll have it finished before I return I'm sure."
It was Anna's turn now. Her smile was so large she tried to hide it. It was a pleasure to select gifts for her, to watch her open them, to see if he got it right. John had added to the hair combs. He hoped she hadn't read Persuasion. John knew Anna had enjoyed Sense and Sensibility, and he thought the quiet patience of Anne Elliott would appeal to her far more than the self-righteousness of an Emma or an Elizabeth. John had no patience with Emma. Anna smiled at him. "This is the only one I haven't read. I meant to borrow the library copy, but I believe Lady Edith left it outside in a storm."
"I think you'll enjoy it. There's some Anne in you." Or was there some Anna in Anne?
Anna smiled. "I'm sure I'll have it finished by the time you return." She started on the tie on the small box. The jeweler had packed the combs in a small velvet case. John had wrapped that in green with a gold ribbon. Her breath caught when she saw the nymphs. "Oh John." She ran her finger along the rose-strewn hairline of one of them. They were amazingly detailed. "They're beautiful." She followed along the pert up-turned breast of the other.
"They reminded me of you." The snow was falling fast. They way her eyes shone, her smile, the quiet of stopped time. John felt he needed to whisper. He took one from the box, never dropping her gaze, and arranged Anna's braid in a coil at her neck. He tucked in the comb, and turned her head to admire his work. "Well, she's decently covered by your hair now." Anna chuckled. "But we know her hidden beauties, and she looks lovely perched there."
Anna turned to kiss him. With the silence and the snow and the dark, it made John feel light and dizzy. The fire was beginning to die. "Do you want to stay down here, or go on to bed?" He wanted to stay with her until the last possible moment. He didn't know how long he'd be away, or what he would be facing, and the holiday needed to last.
"Let's stay." They ate their mince pies, finished the tea, and sat in the bright darkness until the morning birds began to stir. Anna had curled into his arms, despite the scratchy wool of his old sweater. They barely made it back upstairs in time to get up for the day.
The train came to another stop, and John returned to his seat. The old lady was still knitting. She had finished her fruitcake, and was now wishing she had a way to pack tea in her bag. John wished he had as well. His companion looked to be a few years younger than his mother, in much the same mold but where John's mother was forthright and unsentimental, this lady seemed genuinely sweet. John knew something like this was coming for his mother; she hadn't been quite herself lately. He found himself wondering if it would be better if she had died. She wouldn't want to linger.
The old lady asked what he did that took him so far from home. She was impressed. She had been a housemaid before she married, but nowhere so very grand, just a parsonage. John smiled and turned to the window. The countryside was changing. Still dusted in snow, but different shapes created the forms. Mrs. McGuinness had said she'd knocked, and Mrs. Bates hadn't answered. Sometimes it took her a while to get to the door, but it took longer than usual and she had knocked again. When there was still no response, she used her key and found Mrs. Bates seated in her chair, starring. She didn't seem to know her at first, and then she did but she couldn't speak. She had assured John she would do whatever was needed until he could be there. John was fairly certain she thought he was a bad son, and worse husband, but it didn't matter. There had been a time he would have cared, would have been offended, but now he wanted her to keep feeding information to Vera. He needed to keep Vera close, for now.
She was asking him if he had any family of his own. John saw a deer at the wood on the edge of the tracks. Did he have any family. That was a simple question, and he was taking far too long to answer it. The truth wasn't appropriate. She was just making conversation; his answer wouldn't matter. Anna would raise an eyebrow at his confusion. John hated it when he had to confess the reality of his marriage. He answered her question. She was sorry he didn't have children, but maybe it wasn't too late. Would he like part of her sandwich?
John had heard his mother once remark that children weren't necessarily a blessing. It had been in response to a neighbor who had commented on her lack of grandchildren. She had commented that she didn't think it her business to inquire after the family plans of her son and daughter in law, and in some instances, it was better off if a couple remained childless. The neighbor she had been speaking to had been surprised that she could say such a thing. John hadn't been. He knew part of it was born of the loss of all her children save him. Mostly, though, it was because of Vera. To his mother's credit, she had never spoken against Vera to him until the end of their marriage. John considered that to be about a year after he was back from Africa. It was irretrievably over by then. It was typical of his mother to hold her tongue. He respected her for that. She would watch, silently, critically, while he lived his life, and then would offer unsolicited guidance, as she had done in the spring, reminding him forcefully that he was never too old for maternal advice. John had known immediately that she didn't like Vera. Sometimes he wondered if part of his attraction to Vera had been that she was exactly the sort of woman his mother would disapprove of. His mother had watched their relationship deteriorate, and held her tongue until John decided to try to change his life.
The train was stopping again. His companion had nodded off, crumbs of her cake and her sandwich sprinkled on her coat, her knitting in a heap on her lap. John checked his watch. Anna would be working in the girls' rooms about now. The day after Christmas was always a little sad. Weeks of busyness, and then the excitement, and then the lull before the new year. As a boy, John had found it a troubling time. He had wondered if something was wrong with him. He was relieved to find his mother felt the same way, that Anna felt the same way, but they were able to enjoy things as they came, in their time, and move on when they were over. John knew he was sometimes too caught up in anticipation to appreciate the present. He took out Vera's letter.
John had not responded. He hardly knew what to make of it. It was snowing again. Dear John. Had recently changed her situation. New opportunities. Had rethought his previous propositions. Had heard he had moved on. Perhaps it was time to formalize things. Wouldn't pretend she hadn't had offers. Most were better than anything he could ever hope to offer. Heard she was a young thing, and blond. Providing John was able to satisfy and settle certain debts, so far as she was concerned he could have his floozy. Had heard his mother was failing, really must do the right thing and call one day. So busy with the new job, but she must find the time. They should meet when he was next in town. So much to discuss.
John folded the letter, re-inserted it in the envelope, and returned it to his pocket. Nothing was so cruel as false hope. The train was approaching Kings Cross. He would be careful. At least, he would try.