A gentle breeze stirred the big oak tree outside Annie’s window, and the sun shone on some late-blooming red roses in the front garden. Annie stepped down onto the floor, using the footstool beside her bed, and took a muslin frock from the wardrobe against the wall. As she dressed, she made plans for the day. She would put aside all the problems with Anne and concentrate on preparations for her favourite daughter’s arrival from Queenston that afternoon. She would get Cook to make some of Mary’s favourite treats.
Descending the staircase, she scented the aroma of something good wafting up from belowstairs. A new recipe for scones, perhaps? At the same time, she heard the thump of a chair in the breakfast-room. That meant that William was already there waiting for her. She quickened her pace. It would be pleasant to share with him her plans for Mary’s arrival while they enjoyed Cook’s baking.
“Where is yesterday’s copy of The Christian Recorder?” he asked her as she sat down across the table from him.
“I have no idea, husband, and it would be pleasant if you would begin our conversation with ‘Good morning.’” He is never to know that I gave the damned paper to Lucy to dispose of.
Just as William was rising to press the button on the mantel, Lucy came in with apple muffins and coffee. “Find me yesterday’s copy of The Christian Recorder and be quick about it. I have to be at my office in a very short time.”
From behind William’s chair, Lucy looked at Annie and raised her eyebrows. Annie gave a quick nod, and Lucy disappeared down the stairs into the kitchen. In a few minutes she returned with the newspaper, shaking off some wood particles as she handed it to William.
“Where the hell has my paper been? It looks as if it has come from the wood stack. Never never never take it out of the basket in the front hall where I pick it up each morning as I come down to breakfast.” Lucy retreated, mumbling an apology.
Annie waited for the inevitable rebuke. “Really, Annie, you must supervise the staff more carefully.”
There was silence then as William shuffled through the pages, pausing from time to time to butter his second, then third, muffin. Annie sipped her coffee and once more turned her thoughts towards the day’s events. Mary was arriving for an extended visit. Her husband Sam would not be with her. His law practice absorbed his time. Oh, how she looked forward to having her girl with her again . . .
A loud bellow interrupted her pleasant reverie. “Is it possible that the wicked girl could have written these words?”
“Please lower your voice, William. What words are you talking about? Can we not have a quiet meal without all this anger? What has upset you now?”
“It is this anonymous letter to the editor from some woman complaining that her parents abuse and neglect her. She notes that her father is one of the chief men in this town, that he has servants at his command, a healthy income to spend, and that he still refuses to educate her or to allow her a measure of independence.”
“Why would you assume that our daughter Anne wrote it? It could surely refer to any of several families in this town. ” But as I said this, I remembered a conversation two days ago between Anne and Eliza in which Anne had used the very words of that anonymous writer. But I intend to say nothing about this to William. Our household is already in disarray, and the only thing I can do now is to keep Anne and her father apart as much as is humanly possible. Another open dispute would only destroy all appearance of family harmony.
“Please, husband, put down that silly paper and finish your breakfast. You must not go into court in a rage for which there is no foundation.”
She was happy to see that her words had a salutary effect. William reached for the last muffin on the plate. Then he crunched up the paper and threw it into the fireplace where it briefly extinguished itself in a puff of flames.
* * *
Dear Mary arrived in time for afternoon tea. Lucy had taken the best Wedgewood dishes from the china cabinet and put two long-stemmed roses in the Portland vase on the mantel. On one of the mahogany tables, she had set out a platter of Mary’s favourite mince tarts.
Annie was delighted to see her. Her pretty blue Empire gown with a satin ribbon appliqué showed that her husband Sam Jarvis was liberal with expenses. “Sit down, Mary, and refresh yourself after your long journey across the lake. You will notice that Cook has baked a treat in honour of your arrival.”
“Thank you, Mama, but I shall just drink some tea. I do not feel like mince tarts.”
“It was always your favourite sweet, my dear,” Anne said.
“Forgive me, Mama, I am . . . I am . . .”
It was then that Annie noticed her daughter’s pale face. There was surely an excellent reason for her unwillingness to eat. “I understand. You are with child. That is good news.”
Mary began to cry. “No, no, Mama, I cannot face my coming confinement. I think only of the long and difficult labour I endured in bringing forth a dead child. I do not think I can go through that pain again.”
Into Annie’s mind seeped the memories of her own confinements and the agony of each one. She could not leave dear Mary without consolation. “Remember, daughter, that because of Eve’s sin in seeking knowledge, God punished her and all women by giving them painful childbirth. But there was mercy, too, was there not? He gave Adam and Eve his blessing in the form of children. Your next child will surely live, and you will have the joy of its presence.”
Anne was seated beside Mary. She reached over and put her hand across her sister’s shoulders. “I shall use Papa’s expression. Balderdash and bunkum. That sums up my view of Mama’s reference to Eve’s supposed sin. Excuse my impertinence, Mama, but I have my own ideas on pain in childbirth. Dear sister, when the time comes, I hope to be near you to give you an infusion of meadowsweet to lighten your ordeal.”
Mary smiled. “Does that really help, Anne?”
“It was one of the midwife’s remedies that I learned about in Tolpuddle.”
Annie listened to their conversation. She wanted to dismiss Anne’s suggestion, but she was happy to see the smile on her daughter’s face. If meadowsweet really did work—and she had heard so much about Anne’s skills in midwifery—then she would make certain that the girl was present to assist Mary when the time came.
“All very well, my dears,” she said. “But let us not say anything to Papa about this matter. When your time of birth arrives, Mary, we shall all be there to assist you. Do not worry.”