Chapter 44
John watched as Anna sewed. The half-made doll was now a nearly complete doll. She was very simple, and charming, John thought. John had suggested they purchase Anna's niece a doll from the toyshop in Ripon, but he had not been thinking properly when he made that suggestion, as he had learned from a quick glare from Anna.
It was late, but Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were still in the kitchen. An old friend of Lord Grantham's, Colonel Oswald, had been for dinner. John remembered him as one of the most pompous, most effete men in all of Africa. When he was helping Lord Grantham to prepare for dinner, John noticed how nervous he was. He had confessed to John that he was hoping Colonel Oswald would have something for him to do with the war. He so wanted to be useful. Daisy dropped something. When John returned to Lord Grantham's dressing room after dinner, he found him drunk, loud, and eager. Apparently the dinner had gone well. John had smiled and agreed and re-fought the African campaign with him for at least a quarter of an hour. He didn't think anything would come of it. He picked up his copy of Middlemarch.
"We could talk, if you like." Anna looked tired.
"I don't want to distract you." It had been just over a month since John had collected Anna from her brother's. "And I like just sitting here with you." But for Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, it was John's dream of domesticity. He turned to make certain no one was about, and kissed Anna's cheek. She grinned, but didn't look up from her work.
"I thought…I thought I might try to take the doll to Hetty on my half-day." Of Anna's nieces and nephews, Hetty had wound up the farthest from her siblings and the closest to Anna. She was with an older couple, childless, near Ripon. John wasn't sure how she had managed to be separated from her family, but he thought it for the best. They had written to Anna. She knew where all her nieces and nephews were living, but she only took an interest in Hetty. Mr. and Mrs. McGibbon cherished her almost as much as Anna did. John suspected they were about his age. The doll had a simple stitched face, and yarn hair. Anna was now stitching a small heart onto her body. The doll was a her, never an it, John had learned. He smiled. Anna adored this child.
"I think you should." She smiled again. "I might even join you." She ran her foot against his leg. She had been quiet lately. Mrs. Hughes had insisted she spend a few days off her feet when they returned, and her ankle was much better. Anna had spoken very little about what had happened before he arrived at her brother's farm; the storm from that had passed quickly, almost as quickly as their train ride home the following day. The doll, however, stayed in her hand and daily became more complete. Daisy was laughing.
Anna maintained that she did not like children. John accepted that, but observed that while it was possible, perhaps even reasonable, to dislike children in general it might also be possible to care for one or two in particular. Anna had shrugged her shawl around her, and drawn herself tighter in John's arms.
Anna finished the heart. She put down the doll, and started on a small dress. Mrs. Patmore was whistling. John wondered if Hetty would remember her Aunt Anna, when all the adults in her short life had left her. If she did fade from the girl's memory, John believed Anna would be philosophical. As he picked up his book, his eyes fell on the curve of her breast. Perhaps, one day, she'd make a small dress for a doll for a small girl of their own.
John jumped when Mrs. Patmore entered, Daisy behind her with a tray. He bent to retrieve his book. Anna was giggling. He brushed her ankle, accidentally. Daisy looked confused. She set down the tray, said goodnight, and disappeared. Mrs. Patmore looked as if she might join them. John hoped not. He and Anna had precious little time together as it was; he did not welcome intrusions. She looked from Anna to John. Anna looked up over her sewing and smiled. John swallowed, and smiled. She'd take it as an invitation to stay. She didn't. He noticed there were only two cups on the tray. She had never brought them tea before. She had extra biscuits, and thought, as they were sitting up, they might enjoy them with some tea. She was retiring. As she turned, she winked, and told them not to stay up too late. John's heart lifted.
"Alone at last." Anna sighed as she said it. "Fancy a biscuit?"
"Thank you, no." He poured the tea. "I thought they'd never leave. Did they take longer than usual?"
Anna went back to the dress. "I'm not sure. We've grown so accustomed to being alone." There was no discernable emotion to her voice, it was a fact and stated as such, yet as she said it, John felt such a longing.
His hand grazed hers, and he went back to his book. This was John's dream. A fire, a cold wet evening, Anna with her work, he with his book, tea, no particular conversation, just quiet, and solitude.
"Did you hear them, not discussing William?" She rethreaded her needle.
"I confess I wasn't actually listening." He turned a page. "So, what's the latest?"
"Well, he went home on his half-day, and asked his father again about enlisting." John loved how Anna's wrists flexed as she worked. "Of course he said no, and then he told Daisy, and asked what she thought, and Daisy of course got nervous about it." Her wrists were so slender, and led to her hands, which quite possibly were John's favorite part of Anna's body.
"Of course." John took a biscuit after all. Oat and honey, a pleasant surprise.
"Mrs. Patmore heard everything, and told Daisy earlier that William's such a nice boy, that it would be a shame to not even hear what he had to say." Anna reached for her scissors. Her back hurt. John could tell. "Daisy's been quiet ever since."
John shook his head. "Children…."
Anna poured more tea and went back to her work. John returned to Middlemarch. Engaging was it was, he had the hardest time remembering who all the characters were. It was, however, satisfying.
Anna was edging the doll's dress with a bit of lace. John felt her feet in his lap. He looked at her over the top of the book. She barely looked up from her work.
"I take it they hurt?" He didn't mind being used as an ottoman.
"Just tired." She flexed her ankles and sighed. "The one is swollen again." She hadn't complained much about it. Actually, she hadn't mentioned it. John's attempts to get her to rest or sit or elevate it were rebuffed, sometimes gently. It was maddening. He had a feeling it was not unlike some of her previous dealings with him. Anna had lost her patience with him once, demanding that he stop fussing. She knew good and well when she needed to sit. John didn't need to be told twice, but he still watched for any sign of pain.
"Well, let's see what we can do." John marked his page, and eased off Anna's shoes. She smiled, and sighed again, and kept sewing. "Is that lace from Lady Sybil's old pinafore?"
"Yes. This is the last of it." Apparently it had been part of the scrap pile since Lady Sybil had outgrown it ten years earlier. "I thought it would make the dress nice."
"She deserves a nice dress." The doll, the child. Anna settled back into her chair as John cupped her foot in his hands, rotating it gently. It was swollen, and sweaty. She closed her eyes and smiled as he flexed it. Anna's feet were the one part of her that was not delicate. Her feet were wide, calloused, and surprisingly large. He reached up her leg to unfasten her garters and slip off her stockings. She raised an eyebrow over her work. He dare not reach farther. Unbidden, as usually was the case with her, Vera came to mind. John preferred not to compare them if he could help it. Anna groaned as he spread her toes with his fingers. She had walked for miles in horrible conditions across a harsh landscape on an injured foot, with little assistance, and she had not complained. She had thought only of their goal, and how it could have been worse. The idea of Vera even crossing the street on a turned ankle was laughable.
"If it isn't too wet tomorrow, I thought we might go for a walk in the woods." Anna began sewing again.
"I'd like that. The snowdrops should be up." It had been a particularly dreary winter. John welcomed this hint of spring. "Will you have time?"
"Yes." She glanced up and smiled. John felt warm, and a bit dizzy. Her smile never failed to enchant. The fire needed attention, but he would have to remove Anna's feet from his lap to tend it, and that was not acceptable.
Anna's feet were slowly turning from fleshy white to pink his hands. He was careful around her ankle. It was quite swollen. Earlier in the week he had used too much pressure and she had yelped and pulled away. A walk through the woods, slow, leisurely, looking for snowdrops. It would be so different from their last walk together. Her toes were cold, but warming.
Anna shifted so that her feet dug slightly into John's crotch. John tried to catch her eye, but she was determined not to let him. The doll was nearly complete. Waking to find Anna curled against him had been simply the most perfect moment of his life. He reached just slightly up her leg. She didn't react. That night, John had assumed he wouldn't sleep. Sleep was such a fleeting state for him in the best of conditions; he was certain that in a strange bed in a room that was far too warm, with someone else, even Anna, in the bed, he would remain awake all night, no matter how exhausted. He should really move her feet. The way she was kneading at him things would shortly become unbearable. He had settled into bed in his usual position on his back with bad leg bent, and then reached his arm around Anna, who tucked into his side, muffling in her sleep. She was warm and solid and smelled only of herself. He really needed to move her feet. He had fallen asleep almost immediately. She ran one toe down the front of his trousers and settled her foot just between his thighs as she poured more tea.
"Anna."
She looked up, wide-eyed, from the tiny dress. "Yes? Why did you stop? It felt so nice." The minx. It did indeed feel nice. He smiled, and picked up her right foot.
"Do you think I should talk to William again?" The trouble was there was no safe way to retaliate on her now. Once the weather improved, it would be her turn. Waking the next morning had been slow. John had awakened before Anna, and was startled at first to have slept, and then to realize he wasn't in his bed. As he remembered what had happened, he felt Anna stir slightly next to him. She had rolled so that her back was against his side, her hands balled under chin, her braid messy from John's lack of practice. John had felt more at peace than he could remember ever feeling. He had shifted to his side, and curled around Anna, placing his lips to the top of her head. He didn't want her to wake, but he needed to feel more of her. He might never have another chance to share a bed with her. She had nestled against him. He needed to make the most of it.
"If you think it would help." She shifted. "I doubt he'll listen." John knew he wouldn't. It felt like he had watched Anna sleep for hours. He had dozed off again himself, to find she had turned towards him. Waking up together, slowly, leisurely, had been the most natural thing, just as natural as falling asleep had been. John realized now, watching her sew, that he had never experience that sort of intimacy with Vera. Sharing a bed and sleeping together were entirely different. Quiet, trusting intimacy. He had known it, but hadn't realized it. Anna dropped a stitch. She was getting tired. When he was married to Vera…no when he was living with Vera, John had known there was something missing, but he hadn't wanted to think about it. John and Vera would fall into bed, late in the evening, and take their alcohol-fueled passion out on each other, often with a hint of violence. Afterwards, they would roll to their respective sides of the bed, comatose until morning, when awakening or recovering was a distinctly individual activity. He and Anna were intimate in ways he never imagined with Vera. Occasionally John had tried to sleep near Vera, perhaps put an arm around her, but he was always pushed away. Anna had been languid in her waking and almost childlike in her drowsy joy that they were together. John smiled. Anna was, however, no innocent, as she had proven soon after they woke.
"There." Anna placed the doll on the table. "She's done." Her eyes were puffy. This was the life he wanted. Anna stretched. Her eyes closed, her back arched, her chest lifted. A life in which these ordinary evenings, this dull domesticity, was usual. He had never had it; he had never considered it as an option; now it was the stuff of his dreams. Anna twisted her back from side to side. "Do you still want to add a picture book?"
"Of course. If you'll help me pick it out." He wasn't sure what small girls liked. Anna smoothed her hand over the doll, and nodded. He picked up the doll. "She's very pretty." Anna blinked, and tilted her neck from side to side. The way it cracked made John's ache.
"Thank you." She took the doll back from him. "Let's try to go next week. We'll stop in Ripon on the way and get the book and a stick of candy." She yawned. The fire had gone dark. She shivered, in the way that comes more of exhaustion than cold.
"We need to head to bed." Neither moved. "Would you like me to crack your back?" John could tell it hurt. It was so satisfying for them both. Anna would brace herself against him, he would press at just the right place on her spine. Anna would collapse against his chest, breathless and sighing, as her body re-aligned.
Her eyes widened. "That would be heavenly." John smiled, and helped her to stand. It wasn't as if was some unusual treat. Anna grinned as she braced herself against John.
"Hmmm….I've never tried it before with your corset on." He ran his hands along her spine, seeking the pressure point.
"I could take it off." All hint of seduction was gone from her voice.
John smiled, and pulled her closer. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea." He kissed the top of her head. "Suppose Daisy wanders back down?" Anna groaned. "I'll figure something out." He worked his hands over her spine. He could feel the knot just beneath the top of her corset. He shifted so his weight was between both legs. Once he hadn't been ready and when Anna melted against him, he had lost his balance and fallen. He thought he could manage. "Ready?" Anna nodded. Her eyes were closed. John pressed just below the knot. As he slowly pressed harder he felt an almost audible snap and Anna gasped, falling against him. His face was buried in her soft hair. She smelled of wood smoke and roses. To make her feel so good was such a delight. John was in heaven.