A Christmas Candle

by Katie Flynn

  With these words she humped the blanket over her shoulders once more and Eve turned away, shocked to the core. Two bad words before breakfast, she thought, scandalised. Before she came to Drake’s Farm she had not heard even the mildest of expletives, but here the farmhands frequently cursed when a cow trod hastily or a horse accidentally bit the hand that fed it. Amongst the children, however, swearing was much frowned upon by Auntie Bess, for on her only visit so far Mrs Armstrong had mentioned that she had heard one of the farmhands using what she described as ‘bad language’. It might not have mattered, but Chrissie had seized upon the offending word and even Auntie Bess, a broad-minded woman, had not liked to hear a three-year-old cussing like a man grown.

  As usual Eleanor had blamed Eve for letting her little brother learn such words, but Auntie Bess had shaken a reproving head.

  ‘’Tisn’t as though the child knew what he was sayin’,’ she told Eleanor. ‘If you make somethin’ of it we’ll be hearin’ that word twenty times a day for the next three weeks. If you ignore it, the lad will forget it in an hour. And as for its being anything to do with young Eve here, what’s she supposed to do? Stuff the kid’s ears with cotton wool?’

  Eleanor had laughed. ‘There I go, over-reacting as usual,’ she had said lightly, and the matter had been allowed to drop.

  Now Eve resisted the temptation to say something sharp to Connie and headed for the stairs, clattering down both flights noisily and hoping that, if she woke Chrissie, he would begin to bellow, so that Connie would either have to get out of bed and help him to dress or be in trouble with Auntie Bess. One of the few rules the latter imposed upon her charges was that no one would allow Chrissie to come to harm, and trotting around the farmhouse in his nightwear in such freezing weather could easily lead to a bad cold in the head, if nothing worse.

  Eve burst into the kitchen and saw that she was certainly not too early. Auntie Bess believed everyone worked better in snowy conditions if they had a good hot meal inside them. She would serve the usual porridge, Eve knew that, but there would also be bacon sandwiches: thick slices of home-made bread between which would nestle equally thick slices of bacon. The land girls and Uncle Reg would have waded into breakfast this morning with a will, happy to know that an equally substantial meal would be provided at the end of their working day. Eve herself, Chrissie and Connie did not need the sandwiches, but would be given something extra, perhaps a second boiled egg, sitting in a little china egg cup and awaiting their pleasure.

  Mrs Faversham, standing at the stove, looked up and smiled as Eve entered the room. ‘Is that dratted brother of yours with you?’ she enquired. ‘He likes a three minute egg so’s he can dip his soldiers into the yolk, but as I tell him, I can’t foretell the future, so I doesn’t put his egg on to boil until he’s finished his porridge. And you’ll have to get on with your chores without him today, ’cos the snow’s too deep for a little ’un. If I were to let Chrissie go out in this weather it would come over the tops of those little wellies what your mum bought him, and that would never do.’

  As Eve went out of the kitchen to fetch Chrissie she could not help smiling. They had been at the farm now for over three months and though school was still what you might describe as a bit of a muddle Mr and Mrs Faversham saw to it that the farm was run efficiently, everyone knowing their jobs and feeling proud when they were congratulated by the farmer and his wife on the way they’d handled their chores. In fact, Eve thought, running quietly up the second flight of stairs, apart from Connie things could scarcely have been better. Once animals were fed, horses groomed and stables and sties swept out and laid with fresh straw, the young inhabitants of Drake’s Farm could do more or less as they liked provided they arrived promptly in the kitchen at meal times. Mrs Faversham told them frankly that to waste food in wartime was wicked.

  ‘Keep your ears open for the sound of the church clock and you won’t go far wrong,’ she had told them. ‘During the holidays, once you’ve done your chores the rest of the day is your own. Just remember to come in for dinner and tea and don’t get benighted; we’ve not got the time to go quartering the countryside looking for kids who might’ve fallen in the snow and bust both their ankles.’

  Eve had just reached the top of the stairs when Chrissie’s shrill treble sounded in her ears, along with a more muffled sound which she guessed must be emanating from Connie. She shot across the landing and threw open the bedroom door, to see Chrissie tugging at Connie’s bedclothes whilst Connie shouted at him to get out and go down for breakfast.

  ‘I’m skippin’ the meal for the sake of my figure,’ she informed Eve. ‘It’s about time you did the same. You’re getting as fat as a pig, Eve Armstrong.’

  Eve scooped Chrissie up and carried him over to the washstand to wash his grubby little face and fingers in the icy water. At the mere touch of the flannel he shrieked and hit out, but Eve went grimly on with her task until her little brother was clean and then dressed him as swiftly as possible, completely ignoring Connie when she shot up in bed, tousle-headed and sleepy, to demand that Eve should get her brother out of the attic before she landed them both a good hard thump.

  Only when she had finished with Chrissie did she turn to the other girl. ‘Are you sure you’re not coming down for breakfast? I don’t honestly think you’re ever going to get fat, you lucky thing.’

  She spoke as pleasantly as she could, still mindful of Lily’s suggestion that she should try to find Connie’s nice side. After all, if you looked at it practically, Connie did have a nice side, but she kept it for grown-ups – and Lily, of course. To the other evacuees – and Eve now counted herself and Chrissie as evacuees – she was sharp and bitter if she did not simply ignore them, though Eve had noticed that she was nicer to the boys than to the girls; nicer even to the old farmhands than she was to their wives. However, Eve continued grimly to be nice to Connie, or as nice as she could bear to be in the face of the other girl’s antagonism, so now she continued, ‘Are you getting up or not? Do you want me to tell Auntie Bess you’ve decided to have a lie-in? I don’t mind doing your chores if you really don’t want any breakfast.’

  Connie sighed deeply and threw off the covers. ‘And you’d eat my egg, no doubt, as payment,’ she said bitterly. ‘All right, all right, I’ll be down in ten minutes. I’ll tell Auntie Bess you forgot to wake me.’

  Eve clamped her lips together tightly, but Chrissie, now warmly clad in thick knitted jersey and trousers, dashed towards the door.

  ‘Eggs, eggs, eggs!’ he shouted. ‘And you are a fibber, Connie Hale. Eve did wake you, you know she did, so if you tell Auntie Bess she didn’t you’ll go to the Other Place, which Mrs Ryder told us was a polite way of saying hell.’

  ‘Oh, shut your bleedin’ face,’ Connie said rudely.

  Eve lifted Chrissie up, rested him on her hip and left the room, giving him a secret little smile as she did so. It was obvious that though Chrissie was a boy he did not yet count as such so far as Connie was concerned. Eve wondered at what age her little brother would start to receive polite treatment from the other girl, but then realised that Connie was unlikely to be around as Chrissie grew older. Connie was a city girl to the marrow of her bones, and her oft-repeated promise to leave Drake’s Farm just as soon as she could always sounded as though she meant it.

  Eve and Chrissie arrived in the kitchen just as Auntie Bess finished spooning porridge into two dishes and raised her brows at Eve.

  ‘No Connie?’ she asked, giving Eve a confidential little grin. ‘That girl do hate it when ’tis her turn to clean the beast housin’, but whilst she’s under my roof she’ll live by my rules. Ah, I hear footsteps.’ She began to ladle porridge into a third bowl just as Connie entered the kitchen and slid into her accustomed place, turning to give Mrs Faversham a broad but sleepy smile. ‘Sorry I’m late, but Eve didn’t wake me,’ she said, giving Eve a malicious glance.

  Mrs Faversham chuckled, but Chrissie, beginning work on his porridge, shook his curly golden
head. ‘Only bad children tell fibs,’ he announced chattily. ‘Eve did wake her, only she used a naughty word and wouldn’t get up. Don’t know why, because the boys from Spindlebush Farm is going sledging. I’ve never been sledging but I want to go.’ He turned wide, appealing eyes on his sister’s face. ‘You’ll take me when your chores is done, won’t you, Eve?’ he enquired. ‘There may be snowball fights later, and Robbo said that when the snow came they’d have a compe-whatsit to see who could make the biggest snowman. I like the snow; I wish it would snow all winter.’

  Connie grunted. ‘I’ve got a pain in my back,’ she said pathetically. ‘Someone else will have to clean out the cowshed. I can’t bend and straighten to get the muck into the wheelbarrow.’ She turned eagerly to the older woman. ‘I’ll help you in the house, Auntie Bess. I can lay fires and make pastry …’

  Eve smiled to herself. She had watched the farmyard cats, who seldom if ever came indoors, picking their way distastefully across the snowy yard to reach the comparative safety of the big barn, and thought now that Connie was just like one of them. She hated the cold and the snow and simply wanted to be tucked away in the warm kitchen. But it was her turn to help the farmhands to muck out the cowshed and no amount of pleading that she had a headache, could feel a bilious attack coming on, or suspected that she had broken her ankle would make the slightest difference. Auntie Bess would laugh, rumple Connie’s dark brown curls and give her a push towards the back door.

  ‘You’re a one, you are,’ Auntie Bess said now. ‘Do your share, young woman, and before you know it the job will be done. Mr Smith’s got a real bad go of arthritis and he’s going to feed the poultry so it’ll just be you, Mr Trevalyn and Miriam. It’s not her turn to muck out but she’s a good girl. Lily had tackled nearly all the milking before she’d sat down for breakfast. So you get on, like the rest of us, and I don’t expect to see you inside this kitchen until you pop in for elevenses.’

  Chrissie sniggered. ‘When I’m a man I’ll have arthuritis and I’ll muck out the cowshed even if me bones hurt,’ he said boastfully. ‘But I aren’t a man yet so I’ll help with the little jobs and then Eve will take me to Spindlebush Farm and show me how to sledge.’

  Upon these words he scraped round his now empty porridge dish and began on his egg. Auntie Bess had already taken the top off for him, and now he dipped bread and butter fingers into the golden yolk with great enthusiasm. ‘You’ll take me sledging, won’t you, Eve?’ he repeated, and it occurred to Eve that his sojourn at the farm had already greatly improved not only his manners but also his speech. Once away from the influence of a too-fond mother he was becoming quite a nice little boy; indeed, when Eleanor had visited at Christmas she had been surprised and perhaps even not quite pleased at the change in her favourite child. But right now Eve feared that her little brother was in for a disappointment. Auntie Bess had said he was not to go out into the snow, and Eve knew that she would not change her mind. It was not that she was unyielding and cruel; quite the opposite, in fact. She planned her days carefully, and though she had not said so Eve knew that by keeping Chrissie indoors, unpopular though it may be, she was trying to ensure that the little boy did not catch cold, slip on the ice or otherwise come to grief. It was true that she did not have time to nurse him, but Eve was sure that her primary concern was for Chrissie’s well-being and not her own.

  But Chrissie was dipping his last soldier boy in the egg and then beginning to scoop out the delicious white. ‘I can go sledging, can’t I, Eve?’ he persisted.

  Eve finished her own egg and looked rather helplessly at Chrissie’s rosy expectant face. She had opened her mouth to begin a placatory reply when Auntie Bess took things into her own hands. She came away from the stove and lifted Chrissie from his high chair.

  ‘You’re getting so big and strong I think you can sit on an ordinary chair in future,’ she said. ‘As for them boys from Spindlebush Farm, they’ll have a mort of jobs to do before they can play in the snow. It wouldn’t surprise me if they took the sledge into the village to fetch pig meal and such and didn’t get to throw a single snowball.’

  Chrissie’s face had fallen as he gazed up at Auntie Bess. ‘Well then, I’m going to make a slide right across the farmyard. I’ll hide in the tack room and watch people fall over and break their bleedin’ ankles, so I shall.’

  Eve giggled and so, rather to her surprise, did Connie, but Auntie Bess did not.

  ‘Don’t you go repeatin’ what the farmhands say; that’s bad talk and you know it,’ she said reprovingly. ‘And as for makin’ slides and watchin’ people have nasty falls, you can forget that. No, I’ve a much better idea. You and me will have a bake day and you can be my chief taster. We can’t have icing sugar but there’s nowt to stop us makin’ a batch of gingerbread, and when we’ve done that I’ll show you how I make dumplings to go in the stew we’re having for our tea tonight.’

  Eve saw Chrissie open his mouth to object to this tame pastime, but at the mention of stew and dumplings he looked thoughtful. It was his favourite meal, and much though he had wanted to play in the snow the temptation to be the chief taster, when his favourite meal was on the menu, was strong. I’m not the only one who knows Auntie Bess won’t be persuaded to do what she thinks is wrong, Eve told herself. And if I get away quickly, as soon as I’ve helped with the chores, I’ll be able to explore a bit more of the countryside, snow or no snow. It will be the first time I’ve not had Chrissie hanging on to my hand and making me carry him as soon as his legs get tired. He’s not a bad kid, in fact he’s getting better every day, but it will still be a relief not to have him chattering away beside me.

  She looked across the kitchen to where Auntie Bess was carrying the dirty dishes over to the sink, and Auntie Bess smiled at her and winked. Eve smiled back, delighted to see understanding in the other’s face. Auntie Bess was a wonder! She understood Chrissie and was not fooled for an instant by Connie’s pretended sweetness. Auntie Bess knew Connie was lazy and bad-tempered, but she never let it influence the way she treated her, which was just how she treated Eve herself.

  Right now Chrissie was chattering away to Auntie Bess, very much as though it had been his own idea not to go out in the snow. Eve was most impressed; how had Auntie Bess done it? She had managed to make a day in the house sound the sort of thing Chrissie would most enjoy. Sledging, if it involved going into the village to fetch pig meal, became an unwanted chore, and making a slide in order to watch people fall over – though it might have been fun – was not the sort of thing a nice child would even contemplate.

  Whether he would let his sister escape without him, however, was another thing altogether. He had grown increasingly fond of Eve and she knew he thought of her as a sort of mother substitute, but mothers cannot spend their whole lives pandering to their children’s whims, and even Chrissie must be aware of this, so Eve was not too surprised that he took no notice when Auntie Bess told her to get her coat on.

  ‘You can do my marketing, little Eve,’ she continued. ‘I’ve got a list as long as your arm for Mrs Shelborne, and perhaps you’ll persuade her to explain about this ’ere rationing, what the wireless announced t’other day. It seems if you keep hens instead of buyin’ eggs they’ll give you poultry feed, but I’m not sure how it works.’ She sighed. ‘All these ministries of this and that, poppin’ up all over the place, tellin’ you one thing one moment and somethin’ different the other. ’Tis a good thing we’re remote, like, and on the small side, but no doubt they’ll get round to us sooner or later and I don’t want to be in trouble, so I hopes Mrs Shelborne can explain.’

  ‘All right, Auntie Bess,’ Eve said joyfully. She could go into the village by her beloved old lane, sauntering along at her own pace, enjoying the crisp air and scuttling through the three or four inches of snow until her boots met the crackling golden-brown leaves of the previous autumn. She wished Mabel was still at Drake’s Farm – she wished this a dozen times every day – but she had always had a lively imagination a
nd could pretend that her friend was with her, anxious to hear her news and to pass on her own.

  Auntie Bess had a small notebook in her hand and was frowning down at it, clearly checking the shopping list before handing it over to Eve. ‘Mrs Shelborne will sort out what I can have and what I can’t,’ she remarked as she did so. She glanced significantly at the pantry where Chrissie, muttering to himself, was selecting items which he thought Auntie Bess would need for her baking. ‘Go you off, child, before young master decides to try to go with you,’ she said in a low tone. She jerked a thumb at Eve’s coat and hat hanging on their hook by the back door. ‘Unless you want to hear wails of protest you’d best slip off while his lordship is fully occupied.’ She smiled conspiratorially at Eve as that young person began to don coat, hat and boots. ‘There’s no hurry for the shopping, but you’ll be wanting your lunch so listen out for the church clock and be back in time for whatever I’m serving.’

  ‘I will, Auntie Bess,’ Eve said, and slid out of the back door as stealthily as any mouse. She crossed the snowy farmyard at a trot, glancing apprehensively over her shoulder as she did so, but all was quiet. Chrissie had not missed her yet, or perhaps he had simply decided that assisting Auntie Bess with her baking was probably more fun than a chilly trek into the village and back.

  Eve turned out of the gate and set off in the direction of the village, giving herself an ecstatic hug. This was the first time she had been alone in the lane since that wonderful day when she had seen Drake’s Farm for the first time. There were many games which the children had used to shorten the long walk into the village in the weeks since then, but Eve had never revealed to anyone but Mabel those first magical moments when she had imagined fairy folk sculling tiny acorn boats across the still waters amongst the beech tree roots. Today, however, she could please herself. When she reached the stream she could wander along to the deep pool where the brown trout lurked and spend as much time as she liked simply watching them. It would be impossible to play games such as the three billy goats gruff, but what did that matter? And it would be rather fun to walk in her stout wellingtons amongst the frosted reeds, breaking the ice, and wading across by the ford, instead of using the bridge which looked so frail but was, in fact, extremely tough, since the farm horses came this way on occasion and the bridge scarcely creaked under their considerable weight.