Anna and Her Daughters

by D. E. Stevenson

  “At Euston.”

  “Yes, in all the noise and fuss and bustle. At first I thought it superficial, but it came back to me again and again, and every time I saw more in it.”

  “We’re all travellers, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, and there are hundreds of streams, some pleasant and others not. The traveller toils along the dusty road and then, far off, he sees a stream. He’s hot and thirsty so he looks forward to his bathe, but when he gets there the stream is muddy and weedy so he doesn’t enjoy his bathe as much as he expected … but sometimes he comes to a stream quite suddenly, a different sort of stream; he sees a pool of crystal clear water —”

  “The sun is shining on the ripples and there are primroses growing on the bank.”

  “Yes, sunshine and primroses,” agreed Ronnie. “It’s a perfect place for a bathe. The traveller would like to linger here, of course, but he has to press on … so on he goes. He looks back over his shoulder and wishes he could bathe twice in the sunlit pool.”

  “There’s another kind of stream —” I began.

  “Yes, I know,” agreed Ronnie. “It runs in a deep gully amongst jagged rocks — the water is icy cold and the current nearly sweeps him off his feet — but somehow or other the traveller struggles through and crawls out on the other side.”

  “But he doesn’t have to bathe in it again.”

  Ronnie sighed and said, “No, never again. It’s behind him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Aunt Jane,” said Val. “Do you think there will be snow for Christmas?”

  Val had asked the same question a dozen times at least. He had never seen snow; he was yearning to see it; he was especially anxious that the ground should be white with snow at Christmas.

  “Daddy would like it,” explained Val. “Daddy hasn’t seen snow for years and years. If there was snow we could go tobogganing. Mr. Gow says he can easily make me a toboggan. Oh dear, I wish the snow would come!”

  I was not yearning for snow (it is cold and uncomfortable and messy when you have to go out in it and dig a path to the gate and carry in wood for the fire) and I was not at all sure that Ronnie would appreciate it either. At any rate I could do nothing about it. I could buy a turkey; I could help to make plum-puddings and to decorate the house but I could not order snow.

  The preparations for Ronnie’s arrival at Timble Cottage were on an elaborate scale. Val staggered in with loads of holly and Tom Gow found a ‘Christmas Tree’ in the woods and planted it in a pot. We decorated it with tinsel and coloured balls and candles. Margaret had a little model of Father Christmas in his sleigh, drawn by reindeer, so we wired it carefully on to the top branch.

  “But he’s not real,” said Val regretfully. “I mean Chairley says he’s just a fairy tale — for kids. I suppose Chairley’s right, Aunt Jane?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, Val.”

  “Och well, I don’t care,” declared Val. “I’ll have my own Daddy and he’s better than a hundred million silly old Father Christmases.”

  It seemed a pity that the lovely old legend of Santa Claus should be exposed as a myth to a seven-year-old child (I remembered what fun it had been unpacking my Christmas stocking) and I was all the more disappointed because I had laid in a store of fascinating gew-gaws to fill a stocking for Val; but I had promised Val, cross my heart, that I would never lie to him.

  “He can still have his stocking,” said Margaret consolingly. “Even if he knows we’ve filled it for him it will be fun.”

  Ronnie was coming to Timble Cottage on Christmas Eve. He was coming for a few days only, to spend Christmas with us and to fetch Val. His plans had all gone smoothly; he had found rooms in Eastringford and had arranged with the landlady to cook and cater and to keep an eye on Val when he was out. He had been to see the headmaster of the school and had liked him immensely so he had arranged for Val to start there next term. It was all fixed without the slightest difficulty; it sounded ideal.

  Val was so excited that he could talk of nothing else.

  “Fancy seeing Daddy!” Val would exclaim. “I haven’t seen Daddy for ages and ages. I’ve grown, haven’t I? Won’t Daddy be surprised when he sees how big I am? Oh dear, I hope the train won’t be late. The train won’t be late, will it, Aunt Jane?”

  “It might be late.”

  “But I don’t need to go to bed until Daddy comes, do I? I couldn’t go to bed till I’ve seen Daddy. I want to meet him at the gate, you see.”

  In the morning, when Val came down to breakfast, he would cry, “Only two more days till Daddy comes! I wish I could push on the time. I wish to-day was the day after tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m going to bear waiting two more days …”

  Margaret and I suffered in patience, but Chairley did not.

  “Other folks have Dads besides you,” grumbled Chairley. “What’s all the fuss?”

  “There’s nobody like my Daddy. He’s smashing,” declared Val earnestly. “Wait till you see him!”

  “I’m not wanting tae see him.”

  “But Chairley, I’ve told you — he’s smashing! Oh joy!” cried Val, hopping about in excitement. “Oh joy, Daddy’s coming! He’s coming to fetch me —”

  “I ken that fine. You’ve telt me a dizzen times. I’m sick of hearing aboot it — and that’s the truth.”

  “But Chairley —”

  “You’re going tae live in England,” said Chairley scornfully. “You’re going tae an English school. You’ll be a toff.”

  “Oh, no, Chairley!”

  “Aye, ye will so. You’ll forget all aboot me.”

  “No, honestly. Listen, Chairley, I’ll come back often — for the holidays — Aunt Jane says I can.”

  “You’ll not be wanting tae play with me.”

  “I will! I will so! I’ll never forget you. We’ll play together in the holidays — when I come —”

  “What’s holidays?” said Chairley miserably. “What’ll I dae all the rest of the time when you’re not here?”

  Chairley was not the only person who was wondering what he would do when Val was not here.

  “It will be frightful,” declared Margaret. “But of course we mustn’t show him that we mind. I shall have to find a mate for Bess; there’s nothing so comforting as a litter of spaniel puppies. You’ve got your work to keep you happy.”

  “I’ve finished my book,” I reminded her.

  “Oh I know, but you can start a new one.”

  “It will be a dashed dull book,” I said, trying hard to smile.

  *

  There was no snow for Christmas but everything else was ready for Ronnie’s arrival. The bed was aired, the turkey was waiting in the larder and there were masses of holly all over the house. We had placed the tree in the window of the sitting-room and drawn back the curtains so that it could be seen from the gate. All that remained to be done was to light the candles when our visitor arrived.

  Ronnie was due at five o’clock but the train was delayed and it was nearly seven when the taxi was heard in the distance, grinding up the hill.

  “That’s him!” shrieked Val. “That’s Daddy at last! Quick, quick, light the candles! Light the candles for Daddy! Isn’t it a good thing that the taxi makes such a row!”

  Margaret and I hastened to light the candles while Val rushed out to the gate … we heard the ecstatic greetings — Ronnie’s deep voice and Val’s shrill treble — and a few moments later Ronnie came up the path with Val hanging round his neck. Ronnie was laughing; he seemed almost as excited as the child.

  “Val, you’re strangling me!” he exclaimed. “Val, you weigh a ton — what has Aunt Jane been feeding you on? Val, get down and let me speak to Aunt Jane!”

  But Val was too excited to listen.

  “Daddy, you like the tree! Weren’t you surprised when you saw it? Didn’t it look lovely when you drove up to the gate? Look at the holly, Daddy! I climbed up the ladder myself and fixed it with a nail — and Chairley helped me. You haven’t seen Chai
rley, have you? Chairley’s my very best friend — you’ll see him to-morrow! And wait till you see the plum-pudding! Daddy, I helped to stir it — and I helped Aunt Margaret to stuff the turkey —”

  By this time he had released his stranglehold and was capering about in the hall. “Hurrah, hurrah!” he shouted. “Daddy’s come! Hurrah, hurrah!”

  Val was shouting, we were all laughing and the taxi-driver was waiting for his fare. The noise and confusion created by one small crazy boy was quite incredible.

  Gradually the excitement abated and we were able to make ourselves heard; to speak in a rational manner and to show Ronnie his room. Ronnie was delighted with everything and especially delighted with his son.

  “He’s simply splendid,” declared Ronnie.

  “He’s put on weight,” said Margaret proudly; she was the cook!

  “Yes, but it isn’t only that.”

  “You mean he’s noisier?” I suggested.

  “Definitely noisier,” chuckled Ronnie. “It’s a good sign for a little boy to be noisy. He was far too quiet before.”

  Yes, he had been far too quiet. When I looked back and remembered the pale little ghost in the bungalow at Adruna I realised the difference in Val. He looked a different child. “I’m glad you’re pleased,” I said.

  “Pleased!” echoed Ronnie. “I simply can’t thank you enough. He’s better in every way.”

  I was glad to see that Ronnie himself looked a great deal better. His eyes had lost the bewildered expression which had worried me so much. Obviously he had put the past behind him and was looking forward to the future. A future full of useful work; the kind of work in which he was interested; the kind of work he could do well.

  We had promised Val that he should stay up late that night, but he was so tired with all the excitement that soon after supper his head began to nod and his eyes would not stay open.

  “Maybe I’d better — go to bed,” said Val sleepily. “You’ll come up — won’t you, Daddy — and tell me — a story.”

  But Val was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow and the story remained untold.

  Margaret, also, went off to bed early and after that Ronnie and I were alone, sitting by the fire and talking. There was nothing particularly interesting about our conversation (it was mostly about Val’s clothes for his new school and the arrangements Ronnie had made at Eastringford) but somehow it did not seem to matter what we talked about. It was enough to see Ronnie sitting by the fire smoking his pipe, and to listen to his voice.

  “About Val’s shoes,” I said. “When you buy Val a new pair of shoes you must tell them to put a little piece of leather to support the arch of his left foot. Don’t forget, will you? It’s important.”

  “I won’t forget,” said Ronnie. He smiled and added “Shoes or ship or sealing-wax. Do you remember, Jane? The first time I saw you I suggested these curious objects as a subject for conversation.”

  “But we talked about brass knobs and buttons instead — and all the time I was longing to ask your name.”

  “If only I had known …” said Ronnie with a rueful smile.

  It was the custom in Ryddelton for the choir of the church to go round the town on Christmas Eve and to sing carols, so I was not surprised when we heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel path.

  “What’s that?” asked Ronnie. “There’s somebody in the garden!”

  “Listen, Ronnie,” I said.

  For a few moments there was silence and then the silence was broken by voices raised in harmony. The choir had begun with the age-old favourite, “While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night.”

  “That’s lovely!” said Ronnie softly. “It only wanted that …” He rose as he spoke and, drawing aside the curtain, opened the window.

  It was a quiet night, very mild and cloudy, but we could see the shadowy forms of the singers standing in a semi-circle on the lawn.

  When the hymn ended I signed to Ronnie to speak to the singers — usually I thanked them myself, but to-night I felt so moved that I could not trust my voice — so Ronnie thanked them, and told them that he had just returned from Africa and it was a great pleasure to hear Scottish voices singing his favourite hymn.

  “Maybe you’d like another?” suggested one of the men. “If you’d care for it we could sing, ‘O Little Star of Bethlehem.’”

  “Please do,” said Ronnie.

  They sang it for him and it seemed so beautiful that it was almost more than I could bear; the quiet peaceful night, and the voices singing in the darkness, and Ronnie standing at the open window.

  They went away after that, for it was getting late and they had a long road home. They called out, “Good night — and a happy Christmas!” We heard their footsteps on the gravel and the click of the gate and the sound of their conversation getting fainter and fainter and dying away in the distance.

  For a time neither of us moved nor spoke and then Ronnie said, “It’s Christmas Day, Jane. A happy Christmas, my dear.”

  *

  Ronnie and I shut up the house, bolting the front door and snibbing the windows, and then we went upstairs.

  “Jane!” exclaimed Ronnie, halting on the landing. “That’s Val! He’s awake — he’s crying!”

  It was true; I could hear Val sobbing as if his heart would break.

  I opened the door and we went in and turned on the light. “Val, what’s the matter?” asked Ronnie. “Did the singing waken you? What’s the matter, old chap?”

  “Aunt Jane!” sobbed Val. “Aunt Jane —”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter, darling?” I asked. “You were so happy when you went to bed. Did you have a bad dream? Tell me about it, Val.”

  He knelt and hugged me. His arms were round my neck and his face, pressed to mine, was wet with tears.

  “Tell me about it,” I repeated. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

  “It’s you!” he cried incoherently. “It’s you, Aunt Jane! I didn’t think before — but now I’ve thought! I can’t bear it — I can’t bear it! I want — I want —”

  “Darling, what do you want?”

  “I don’t know what I want! I want to go with Daddy — and I want to stay with you. Oh dear!” sobbed Val. “Oh dear, it’s awful to love two people!”

  “You’ll have Daddy —” I began, but I could not go on.

  My face was wet and I was not sure whether they were Val’s tears or mine.

  “But I won’t have you! I want you — and Daddy. I want both of you — at once. Oh, why can’t we all be together!”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” said Ronnie in a low voice. “I’ve been wondering if — if we could all be — together.”

  I could not speak. I could not have spoken to save my life.

  “Jane,” said Ronnie. “Jane, you see how it is. Here are two people who want you. Here are two people who love you so much that they can’t be happy without you.”

  “Too soon,” I whispered. “It’s too soon — for that.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know it’s too soon, but we can wait. We can wait as long as you like. If Val and I know you’re coming — some day — we don’t mind waiting.”

  “Will you?” asked Val, squeezing me tightly. “Oh, please say yes. Will you come some day — cross your heart?”

  “Yes — some day — cross my heart,” I whispered.