Comfort Me With Apples

by Comfort Me

  ‘I know,’ Anna said sympathetically, ‘but try to think of it as though your Papa is held up by storms or something.’

  Isabel’s brother Willie, now a ship’s officer, was in the Mediterranean with his ship and unable to be at the wedding and Isabel said sadly, ‘Willie won’t be able to take his place either but my uncle is so proud to be giving me away, having no family of his own, and Mama is being so brave. I must keep my chin up too. Papa would expect nothing less.’

  Before the wedding took place, Anna’s father arrived home in late August and was appalled by the change in his wife. He came to see Anna to tell her that he had asked Dr O’Brien to see Mrs Furlong but he had refused.

  ‘Said he couldn’t do it, Anna, unless she herself decided she wanted another opinion. Professional etiquette! Poppycock! I’ve taken matters into my own hands and told Dr Hogan I’d like a second opinion. It’s your mother’s life that’s in danger here, Anna.’

  Dr Hogan had agreed to call in Dr O’Brien but he could suggest nothing that was not being done. ‘The bronchitis is too far advanced,’ he said, and after a discussion with the two doctors Captain Furlong decided to ask the shipping company if his wife could accompany him on his next voyage, which was to the West Indies.

  ‘Do you think it will do any good?’ Anna asked Dr O’Brien.

  He shrugged. ‘It will get her away from the winter fogs of Liverpool, which will help the cough, and it will help your father. He’ll feel he’s done all he can.’

  The company readily gave permission to such a long-serving captain and Mrs Furlong set off with her husband in September. She seemed to blossom in the excitement of preparation and departure and Anna felt able to kiss her and hope that she came back restored to health.

  ‘Yes, and you must take care, Anna. Do nothing that risks your health or your baby’s.’ Anna was always pleased to remember that they parted on such amicable terms.

  She was dismayed to find how quickly she was growing in size and before the wedding she had to let pieces into the side seams of her bridesmaid’s dress. The midwife told her that she was probably carrying a lot of water.

  Isabel came to Liverpool again before the wedding and confided in Anna that she dreaded leaving her mother. ‘We won’t be far away because the schoolhouse is only a few minutes’ walk from our cottage. John and Mama get on so well too but Mama and I have always been more like sisters,’ Isabel said. ‘With Papa away so much I shared the responsibility of the boys, so even when I was quite young Mama and I talked almost as equals.’

  Anna sighed. ‘Dorrie and I envied you your happy home, Isabel. Mama and Aunt Clara were always quarrelling and Father always seemed stern and unapproachable. He laid down the law and we submitted, sometimes not very willingly in my case.’

  ‘Like when you wanted to train as a teacher or go out to business,’ Isabel said. ‘Mind you, I always felt it was your mother who made the decisions, although your father didn’t realise it.’

  Anna was amazed. ‘D’you know I didn’t either, but as soon as you said that I realised it was true,’ she said. ‘Mama has always had this idea of herself as a society lady, with her daughters at home to wait on her. Dorrie was quite happy to do so, but I hated being so dependent on her whims. I’ve always blamed Father. I can see how she did it, but I never even suspected, and you did.’

  ‘They say the onlooker sees most of the game,’ Isabel said. ‘But I might be wrong, Anna. I say too much without thinking.’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. I’ve seen a different side to Father lately. He often walks over to see us when he’s ashore and we’re really close now, more than I would have believed possible. I’m sure James will be a good father.’

  ‘He will,’ Isabel said warmly. ‘The more I know James, the more I like him. Your child will have a good father and a good mother.’

  Anna’s size did not continue to increase at the same rate but on the wedding day she was thankful for her huge bouquet of bronze chrysanthemums, clove carnations, honesty and gypsophilia, with long trails of smilax hanging from it.

  Isabel was also pleased with the effect of her sheaf of lilies against her white satin dress, cut on classical lines with a small train. She wore her mother’s wedding veil of Brussels lace and Wilma strutted along beaming and waving her posy at the schoolchildren who lined the route from the church.

  It was a truly happy occasion. John was a very popular headmaster and the uncle who had given Isabel away lived in the Big House and had provided the cottage for the Jenson family. He had arranged a lunch in the village hall for the women and children of the parish and free drinks at the public house for the men when they returned from work.

  There were not very many guests at the lavish reception in Alfred’s house, although there seemed more because Mrs Jenson’s brothers were all large men with loud voices and their wives were large too.

  They were all gentle and protective towards Mrs Jenson, ‘Our baby sister,’ one of them boomed to Anna. Isabel had told her that they had all helped with money and by looking after Jonathan and David, who travelled to Manchester for school. ‘They invite them to their houses after school and the boys are free to take any number of friends with them. They all have a feast and tips from the uncles. It helped the boys no end to settle into school.’

  ‘I can imagine it would make them very popular,’ Anna had laughed.

  Alfred was the brother nearest in age to Mrs Jenson and the quietest. He rarely left her side, taking his position of being in loco parentis very seriously.

  ‘It’s a pity Willie’s missing this,’ James said to Anna. ‘Hard on Isabel and her mother too.’

  ‘Yes, but giving Isabel away meant such a lot to the uncle,’ Anna said. ‘And Isabel said he’s been like a father to them since they came to live here.’ She laughed, looking to where Wilma was dancing to entertain a group of guests. ‘Willie can give Wilma away. I don’t think he’ll have very long to wait. Six years from now she’ll be thinking of wedding bells with a selection of young men to choose from.’

  She shivered suddenly. ‘Are you cold?’ James said anxiously.

  ‘No. A goose walked over my grave, as Mrs O’Brien would say. The first ten years of this century have gone by so quickly. I wonder what the next ten will bring.’

  ‘Nothing very dramatic I suppose,’ James said. ‘More motorcars and bigger ships. If Mr King manages to fly across the Mersey and back in his biplane with Mr Compton Patterson in November, we might all have our own biplanes.’

  ‘Not me,’ Anna said, smiling. ‘I think if we were meant to fly we’d have been given wings.’

  James shrugged. ‘More trouble between employers and men, almost certainly,’ he said. ‘I can see that brewing now but let’s forget all that today.’

  As the celebrations continued, Isabel and John departed for a honeymoon in Stratford, fulfilling a long-held wish to visit Shakespeare’s birthplace.

  After a very happy day, Anna and James stayed overnight with Mrs Jenson and when they returned home they found a letter from Anna’s father. He wrote that her mother seemed much stronger. The sea air and the sunshine were good for her and all the crew made much of her. Under her supervision even the cook was producing good meals so they were all grateful to her and had rigged up a fan in her cabin.

  ‘That’s good!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘The fact that she’s supervising the cook. I thought she’d be too weak to do anything but lie on a deckchair.’

  ‘Shows the sea air and sun have made her stronger,’ James said. ‘Must be a relief to your father, Anna.’

  The midwife came regularly to see Anna and seemed perturbed about her size, although she maintained it was probably caused by water.

  One day in November, after examining Anna, she said she would like Dr O’Brien to see her. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s just that I think I can hear two heartbeats. You could be carrying twins but I’d like the doctor to see you. Any twins in your family or your husband’s?’ />
  ‘Mama spoke once about an aunt who had twins but she and the twins all died. I don’t know of any others,’ said Anna.

  ‘Don’t be thinking you’ll die or your babies,’ the midwife said. ‘We’ve come a long way since then. Ask your husband about his family.’

  Dr O’Brien agreed with the diagnosis and was equally reassuring. ‘We’ll keep a closer eye on you, because they might come a bit early,’ he said, ‘but you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I feel quite well, just tired,’ Anna said.

  ‘That’s nothing to worry about. You’re a strong, healthy girl with plenty of good food available to you, able to rest when you need to. And don’t forget, medicine’s very different now to how it was in your aunt’s day. How do you like the idea of twins?’

  ‘It was a bit of a shock at first,’ Anna admitted. ‘But we were both hoping you’d confirm it. I’m really excited about the prospect now and so is James.’

  She asked him to look in on Frances. ‘I think she’s in a lot of pain, although she tries to hide it,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. I’ll go and have a cup of tea with her while you get dressed. Does she know about the twins?’

  ‘No, I wanted to be sure first,’ Anna said.

  The doctor said he would leave it to Anna to tell Frances. ‘It’ll do her the world of good.’

  Frances was delighted with the news and so was Julia but they and James insisted that Anna should rest more. She found that she tired more quickly because of her bulk and was glad to obey them, but she occupied herself by making a second set of baby clothes. She sat with Frances while she sewed flannel binders and barras and more long dresses and petticoats. She also made more short dresses, for when the babies would be ‘shortened’ at three months old. Boys wore dresses too, until they went into trousers at three years old, so she made the dresses fairly plain. ‘If I have girls I can easily add more lace and embroidery,’ she told Frances, who seemed stimulated by watching her.

  Anna also talked to Julia about having more help in the house because she could do so little now and Frances needed so much care. ‘I’d like to get someone settled in before the babies are born,’ she said. ‘Poor Frances is going to need more and more care and I don’t want her to suffer because we’ll be kept busy with the babies.’

  ‘Ah, sure I don’t think Miss O’Neill is long for this world. I don’t think she’ll live to see the babies,’ Julia said, wiping away a tear.

  ‘Oh, Julia, I hope you’re wrong!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘Dr O’Brien warned me about this but Frances is such a fighter.’

  ‘I know, m’m, but sometimes she does be in such awful pain I think it would be a mercy if God would take her for her own sake. I have to give her some of Rosa’s medicine as well as the doctor’s before she gets any ease.’

  Anna’s face was white and Julia exclaimed, ‘I’ve upset you, m’m, and I wouldn’t do that for the world!’

  ‘No, no. I’m just facing facts, Julia. Better to do it now than later,’ Anna said. She asked if Julia could recommend anyone and Julia said she knew of a young girl, Imelda Burns, who lived near her relatives in Stitt Street.

  ‘She’s a quiet, clean girl,’ she said. ‘She was in a place near Breck Park but her mammy brought her home to look after her grandmother. She died a few weeks ago.’

  ‘If she suits you, Julia,’ Anna said. ‘You’ll be working with her. You wouldn’t like an older woman?’

  ‘Ah, no. Sure I’d be nervous with her,’ Julia said.

  It was arranged that Mrs Burns and Imelda would come to see Anna and she told Frances that she was getting a girl to help with the babies. ‘I know why you need more help,’ Frances said in her weak voice. ‘You’re a good girl, Anna.’

  Imelda was a quiet, timid girl and Anna liked her immediately and had no hesitation in offering her the job. Before she could answer, her mother said eagerly, ‘Isn’t it a dream come true for her to be working here? I know well what a grand place it is.’

  Anna said firmly to Imelda, ‘Before you decide, Imelda, Julia will show you your room, won’t you, Julia? I’ll be with Frances.’

  They came back to Frances’s room and were introduced to her, Mrs Burns talking volubly about the party her neighbours would be attending on Boxing Day.

  Imelda said nothing but her eyes were shining and Anna said quietly to her, ‘What do you think, Imelda? Will you come?’

  ‘Yes please, miss,’ Imelda said and blushed at her mistake but Anna only said, ‘We’ll have a very quiet Christmas this year. No parties but I think you’ll be happy working with Julia. Frances approves of you too.’

  ‘Yes. Just be a good girl and do what Julia tells you,’ Frances said but her voice was weak and she closed her eyes.

  Anna looked at Julia. ‘Will you take Mrs Burns and Imelda into the kitchen for a cup of tea, Julia, and talk to Imelda about the work.’ Julia gestured to the woman, nodding at Frances, and they crept quietly from the room.

  Imelda learnt quickly and was a great help so Anna felt less uneasy about leaving so much to Julia. She and James did scarcely any entertaining now, although Aunt Clara came occasionally for a meal.

  One evening in late November she came uninvited and told Julia that she wanted to see James but his wife must not know. ‘Just say that a lady has called to see him. Don’t say it’s me.’ Puzzled, but obedient, Julia gave the message quietly to James.

  He found Clara looking very agitated. ‘It’s about Anna’s mother,’ she said without preamble. ‘A man came from the shipping office and he asked for the nearest male relative. I told him that was you but I didn’t want him coming here upsetting Anna. I said I’d tell you.’

  ‘Sit down, Aunt Clara,’ James said gently. ‘Now what has happened?’

  ‘She’s died. Died at sea and been buried at sea. Only ill twenty-four hours. My brother is going ahead with the voyage,’ she said. ‘I’d not long had a letter from him saying how well she was.’

  ‘Yes, we had one too,’ James said. ‘It was good of you to come here with the news, Aunt Clara.’ He stood up and poured a glass of sherry for her, before going to break the news to his wife.

  ‘Poor Father,’ was Anna’s first thought. ‘Just when he thought she was getting better.’

  They tried to persuade Clara to stay the night but she insisted on going home. ‘Nelly’s there on her own and she’s very upset. She really loved your mother, Anna.’

  James took her home and when he returned Anna said, ‘I’m glad that Mama and I parted on good terms but I’d be a hypocrite if I said I felt much grief, James, although I wish I could comfort Father.’

  ‘His work will be his comfort and the thought that he did all he could to make your mother happy,’ James consoled her.

  A few weeks later a letter arrived from her father. He said that his wife had seemed better than she had for years in the weeks before her death.

  ‘Well and happy, almost like in the first years of our marriage,’ he wrote, ‘but the fever developed suddenly. I sponged her with cold water and the fever subsided. She became calm and lucid and told me how much she had enjoyed the voyage and how much better she felt, then quite suddenly she passed away.’

  The letter went on to tell them that he would be home in about two months’ time and to urge Anna to think of her unborn child and not allow herself to become upset.

  Anna wept when she read the letter, but for her father not her mother.

  She was more upset about Frances, who was becoming weaker every day and needing more nursing. James suggested engaging a nurse but both Julia and Anna felt it would upset Frances to have a stranger doing the intimate tasks that Julia did for her.

  ‘Melda’s such a good little girl we can leave Julia free to just look after Frances,’ Anna said but James was concerned about Anna, who looked pale and tired.

  Margaret Mortimer and Maggie Doyle, nee Deagan, offered to help but Clara provided the solution. She had been invited for Christmas Day and it was now only two weeks away so sh
e offered to come to stay at once. Nelly could go to relations and she would close the house. Anna was glad to agree. She felt lethargic and queasy, so she was eating little, and she had a constant pain in her back. She was unable to walk far or to stand for any length of time.

  Although Dr O’Brien was always cheerful and reassuring she knew by the frequency of his visits that all was not as well as he pretended. The midwife came twice a week to see her too but she told her no more than the doctor.

  Anna concealed her misgivings from James. He already worried about her so much and also he was worried about Frances. Even the lightest invalid diet, carefully prepared by Julia, seemed more than she could manage and she grew steadily weaker.

  Christmas was a very quiet holiday for them. Frances was sleeping a drugged sleep for most of the time now and during the day Anna lay on the truckle bed beside her. Julia slept there at night, in case the pain woke Frances, and she now spent more time in the kitchen, cooking and talking to Melda and Clara.

  ‘You need a break from the sickroom,’ Clara said bluntly but Julia only said, ‘Sure I don’t begrudge a minute I’m with her. She’s a grand woman.’

  Two hours after midnight on the first day of January Frances died. She rallied briefly, enough to know that James was beside her, holding her hand, then she smiled and gently died. James and Anna and Julia had truly loved the indomitable little woman and their grief was deep and sincere but James’s was overlaid with anxiety about Anna.

  He had the funeral to arrange and all the business connected with death to fill his mind too. Anna could only rest and think sad thoughts of Frances and of James’s childhood and was able to fill her mind with little else, although Clara, who was still with them, tried to distract her.

  ‘It’s a good thing your mother died at sea,’ she said one day. ‘Otherwise your sister would have had to come home for her funeral and you’d have had to meet her.’ She paused but Anna said nothing, so she went on, ‘I don’t know what’s gone wrong between you, Anna, but I know you don’t write to each other. Surely your mother’s death should unite you.’