Chapter Three
Abigail slowly walked to a chair and sat down. She looked around at the other women in the room, finding that most of them were watching her. Mrs. Beaton had not bothered introducing her; she just told her to go sit down and walked away. Unsure of what to do next, she nodded at any woman who met her eyes for a moment. Finally, one woman stood up and walked over to her. She looked to be about Abigail’s age and had lovely blond hair hanging loose and curly around her shoulders. There was a cautious look in her brown eyes as she took the seat nearest to Abigail’s.
“Hello. I am Julia Hawkins,” the woman said.
“Abigail Jenson.” She stuck out her hand and the other woman looked a little startled but shook it.
“Are you staying with us now?”
“I assume so. This is where Lieutenant MacEnroy brought me.”
“How did that happen?”
As quickly as she could, Abigail explained. She could not completely stem her tears when she spoke of the fate of her parents, but quickly wiped away the few that escaped. She was going to have to find the time and the privacy to give way to her grief. When she finished her tale, the other woman looked close to weeping herself.
“There is so much of that. All the women here are widows or daughters left behind. More widows than the others. There are a few children here as well. We were in another place in town for a while but it became too small to hold us so they moved us here. This used to be the headquarters of the major but, despite what I assume was annoyance”—Julia briefly grinned—“he moved. Mrs. Beaton was at first pleased to get her house back.”
“How do I, well, settle in?”
“Mrs. Beaton did not say?”
“No, she just told me to come in here and sit down. The men took my chests up the stairs.”
“Ah, well, you can share my room as the woman who used to has moved on. She got news that her husband was not dead as reported, just badly wounded, and she has gone to him.” She leaned closer to Abigail and spoke softly. “He lost a leg and demanded that he be listed as dead. It was a friend of his who finally came looking for his wife. He thought it was foolish of his friend to try and turn away the one who might well be the best help for him, so she left with the man. She sent back a short letter when she found her husband and said they were headed back to Ohio.”
“I hope all goes well for her and her husband.”
“As do I, but it has left a bed free in my room.”
“Thank you. Matthew told me little when he left me here. He just mumbled something about this being the Woman’s House and walked away.” Abigail decided Julia had a nice laugh, clear and sweet, almost childlike.
“Come, I will introduce you to everyone and show you where you will sleep.”
Abigail followed her as Julia led her over to each woman in the room and politely introduced her. Most of the women were friendly, but one could almost feel their sadness. It was the same with the children that they met once they made their way up the stairs. There was a fear clinging to each one.
“The children looked so lost,” Abigail said as Julia finally showed her into the room they would share.
The room was larger than Abigail had expected and easily held the two small beds with a table between them. A thick carpet covered the floor and a big fireplace sat on the wall opposite the bed. There were two small chairs flanking a fancy round table in front of the windows at the side of the room. One look at this room was enough to tell Abigail Mrs. Beaton was, or had been, a very wealthy woman. It would be the richest room she had ever slept in. Then Julia spoke and drew her mind back to the children.
“Sad, I know,” Julia said. “We have no orphanages in town for them. The town was small enough that any child orphaned was easily taken in by a local family or relatives but these children are not from around here and the people still here have enough to fret about without taking in another mouth to feed. This is the best we have. There are only four of them so I think the major is hoping we’ll deal with them. We do, but not as it probably should be. Most of the women are still too caught up in their own losses to deal with a child.”
“That does not help the children feel secure at all.”
“True enough but, truly, there are no orphanages near to take them in.”
“The women, sad or not, could do something.”
Julia shook her head. “None show the inclination. It is too dangerous to travel about looking for a suitable place to put them. I sometimes think Mrs. Beaton is a bit taken with the little girl so she might take that one but the others are boys and it has been clear that she finds boys, well, alarming. And who knows if Mrs. Beaton has any plans to leave while the whole country appears to be trying to kill each other.”
Abigail also shook her head. “And no one knows how long it will last, I suspect.”
“Robert thinks it has to end soon. He can’t see how the dead and maimed can keep piling up. He said there will be nothing left of the country soon.”
“That is a morbid thought. And who is Robert?”
“My beau,” Julia said quietly and blushed. “Are you always called Abigail or do you have a shorter name, a pet name?”
Realizing Julia did not want to talk about Robert, Abigail nodded. “My father always called me Abbie.”
“Abbie. That is nice. Less formal. It nears time for our evening meal so we had best get downstairs. Mrs. Beaton gets irritated if we are not on time for it.”
Abigail followed Julia down the stairs and into the kitchen. There was one long table with benches on each side and a chair at each end. In the far corner of the kitchen, a table with four stools around it. She frowned a little. It did not seem right to keep the children separate. Then she recalled how they had been tucked up in a room upstairs with beds and just a few toys while a teenage girl sat in a corner reading a book and ignoring them. It was no wonder they had seemed so lost to her.
She sighed and asked the woman cooking if she needed any help. The woman looked startled but then carefully suggested Abigail might ready the carrots for the stew she was cooking as she was running a little late. That struck Abigail as odd but she just smiled and began to deal with the carrots. Having a conversation was difficult but Abigail kept trying and the woman began to slowly relax. The woman said her name was Mabel Stone and she was the cook and housekeeper. Then Mrs. Beaton walked in to begin setting the table and Mabel went stiff and quiet again. Abigail kept glancing at Mabel but it was clear their very brief comradery was over
Suddenly Mabel leaned closer and very softly said, “Help in the morning is never refused.” She then quietly slipped out of the kitchen.
“Table is set,” said Mrs. Beaton. “I will ring for the others.”
“Doesn’t Mabel eat with us?”
“Who?”
“Mabel Stone, the woman who cooked all this.”
“Heavens, child, why should she? She is the help.”
Abigail watched as Mrs. Beaton stepped out of the kitchen, grabbed a bell off the sideboard, and rang it several times. As she listened to the people coming down the stairs and the talking began, Julia edged up beside her still drying off a pot and whispered, “Mrs. Beaton was once a woman of some stature.”
“You mean rich.”
“Well, yes, she was rich and had a lot of others to do the work for her.”
“But I was not and, I think, many of the other women here were not, either.”
“True, but they follow Mrs. Beaton.”
“Why?”
Julie shrugged. “Because it is her house and she was once very rich.”
“So where does Mabel go?”
“I think she sits in the garden and has her own meal. Then, when everyone is done, Mrs. Beaton rings her bell again as she leaves and Mabel comes back in to clean up.”
The women came into the room, the children behind them. Mrs. Beaton waved the children toward their table as all the women took their seats at the big table, then she took a seat at the head of the table.
“I feel like we should call her ‘Your Highness,’” Abigail muttered, and Julia giggled, quickly covering her mouth to smother the sound.
“Come, settle down, girls. Julia, bring over the stew. And you can bring over those lovely rolls and some butter, Abigail.”
Something about how the woman sat and waited to be served irritated Abigail. She grabbed the ladle from Julia, picked up the kettle of stew, and moved to serve the children. A red-faced Julia hurried over and let each child pick a roll out of the basket she had put them in. She then let Julia set aside the basket. By the time they reached the table where the women sat, Mrs. Beaton looked very angry but said nothing. Abigail just set the basket of rolls and the butter on the table and sat down. Julia had taken time to pour the stew into a fancy dish and set that on the table before taking a seat opposite her.
Just as Abigail ate the last few spoonfuls of her stew, Mrs. Beaton slid her empty bowl toward the fancy tureen and one of the women quickly stood up to refill her bowl. It was not until that woman’s bowl was full that all the others who had finished and wanted more helped themselves. Abigail was pleased when the one they called Molly moved to ask the children if any of them wanted more. Ignoring them had mostly been done because it was what Mrs. Beaton had done not because of a lack of feeling. As she buttered a roll, she decided she would poke at that feeling as much as she could while she was here.
When Mrs. Beaton was done, she simply stood up and walked out. One by one the other women did the same. Abigail was staring at the table littered with dirty dishes when Mabel slipped back inside. She was just about to get up and help clear the table when she felt a light tug on her sleeve. She turned to face a small boy with big brown eyes and very red hair.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I would like another roll, please,” he said in a soft, wavering voice.
“Of course. There are a few left.” She patted the bench at her side. “Come sit next to me.”
“Thank you.” He scrambled up on the bench and wriggled around a little to sit very properly. “I like bread.”
“With butter?”
“A lot.”
She grinned and slathered some butter on the cut roll before placing it on a small plate and setting it in front of him. “I like butter, too. How old are you and what is your name?”
“I am Noah and I am four. Almost five.”
Abigail decided not to ask when he would be five as she had talked to enough children in her life to realize almost could be months and months away. “Then you definitely need to get enough food. You are a growing boy.”
“Yes, I am.” He looked at the fancy dish that held the stew. “Maybe I need more stew to make sure I keep growing.”
“Oh, that is a good idea.” Mabel set the boy’s bowl in front of him and Abigail put more stew in it. “There you go. Thank you, Mabel.”
Mabel smiled and grabbed a few empty dishes before returning to the sink. Abigail wanted to know what the boy’s story was but did not want to poke at what might be an open wound. So she sat and watched him eat. She had the feeling the children were fed but not in a manner they were used to. Mrs. Beaton did not seem the type to cater to a whine about being hungry.
She watched Mabel put together a tray with tea and a lot of little cakes and turned to Julia. “Dessert is in the big sitting room?”
“It is. Not sure why but that is how Mrs. Beaton does it. I better go or I will get nothing and I really want some tea.”
Abigail frowned as Julia hurried away, but then Mabel came up to her side. “I have a little dish with four cakes on it for the children,” she said. “I always put a few aside for them and for my family. You can take it up to them. This tea and cakes time lasts for quite a while.”
And then Mabel slipped away. Abigail looked at the boy who had clearly heard every word. His brown eyes were wide and sparkled with eagerness.
“So you heard that.”
“I did. I have sharp ears. My mother always said so.” He looked increasingly sad as he spoke the last sentence.
“I am sorry you lost your mother,” she said and stroked his curly hair.
“I lost everybody. My father, brother and sister, too. And my puppy. My father had only just got the puppy for me and the men who hurt us killed it.”
“They killed my cat and my parents. I do not know how my brother is because they took him away. They burned my house and so a soldier brought me here.”
The boy nodded furiously and said, “So you are all alone, too.”
“I am, although the soldier is my friend, I believe.”
“I am your friend, too.”
“Then I am truly blessed,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled and patted her on the cheek. “I have a soldier friend, too.”
“Who? I only know a few though so I might not know him.”
“He is called James. He is tall and has brown hair that he said needs a cut.”
“I do think I know him. Are you done?”
“All done and full,” the boy said, and rubbed his belly.
She did not like to think of the times he may have left the kitchen still hungry. “Then we best get those cakes up to the others, don’t you think?”
“Yes, before they get eaten. By someone else.”
Abigail went to the counter and looked in the cupboards finding the small tray with the cakes. She next checked the cold box and found a small jug with some apple cider in it. Once she took four small glasses and placed them on the tray next to the jug she started up the stairs. It comforted her that Mabel thought of the children.
Perhaps, she thought, the women just needed to be encouraged. Mrs. Beaton would not like it, but she did not need to be told. Yet, the children obviously wanted some adult to turn to. She wondered what had made Noah pick her.
Whatever happened, she would do her best to make sure the children did not feel cast off, hidden away in a room. Mrs. Beaton did not have to have them always underfoot, but leaving them alone as she had was wrong. After what had happened to them, they needed some touch from adults, some softness and welcome to pull them out of their sadness. Until that sadness was eased it would be hard to get anyone to take in the children once this wretched war ended.
The moment she walked into the room all the children stared at her. Noah tugged her over to the small table in the room and Abigail handed out the cakes then poured each one a drink. She knelt at the side of the table while they ate their cakes, ready to refill their glasses if they wanted more drink. Somehow she was going to make their lives better here, bring back the smiles and giggles children should have.
“Those were very good, weren’t they?” she asked when they all finished their cakes.
“They were very tasty,” said Mary, the only girl and the oldest at seven.
Mary took a napkin and wiped off her hands then dabbed at her mouth. A very proper child, Abigail thought and nearly laughed. The girl was beautiful with her very pale blond hair and big blue eyes. Abbie could understand why even the stiff Mrs. Beaton would be taken with the child.
The boys were all not much older than Noah. There was Peter who had a mass of freckles all over his face, reddish brown hair and hazel eyes. He proudly stated he was six with a sidelong glance at Mary that told Abigail he was probably edging close to her age. Sam was a quiet shy boy with black hair and soft grayish blue eyes who softly stated he was five. Abigail wondered how the women could so easily stay away from them. To her they practically cried out for care and attention.
“Would you like a story before you go to sleep?” she asked, and she stood up.
“Yes, please,” said Mary, and all the boys nodded. “Anne reads all the time but she does not share the story with us.”
A quick look around told Abigail that the teenage girl was gone. “Perhaps it is an adult book she reads. There must be some here for younger people.”
After a while they all settled on a tale about a horse. The children readied themselves for bed and crawled under the covers, then stared at her as they waited for her to start. Abigail sat on the edge of Noah’s bed and began to read. She was faintly aware of several women peeking into the room as she read the story and hoped that meant a change in how the children were treated. By the time she reached the end they were asleep or so she thought until she stood up and put the book away. Turning to leave, she found Noah staring at her. She hurried over and tucked his covers up around him.
“Get to sleep, young man.”
“Thank you for the story.” He snuggled down in the soft bed and closed his eyes. “My father used to read me to sleep.”
She kissed his forehead. “Hold fast to that memory. It is a very good one.”
When she went down the stairs it was to find Mrs. Beaton waiting for her. Whatever had the woman looking so sour was not mentioned for all the woman did say was, “Lieutenant MacEnroy is here to see you. In the parlor.”
Although she was not exactly sure which room was the parlor, the slight inclination of Mrs. Beaton’s head told her. Abigail strolled into the room and found Matthew seated rather stiffly in a chair. “Hello. Is my wagon someplace safe?” she asked as she went and sat opposite him.
“It is.” He sighed. “The man at the livery was most amused.”
“I am so glad my work pleased him.”
Matthew laughed. “Amused him so weel I was afraid James was going to hit him.”
Abigail smiled. “Tell James I am sorry. Oh, and ask him if he knows a boy named Noah, one of the children here.”
“I believe he does. He has brought a child here. A small boy.”
“Probably the man then.”
“How are the children?”
“Well. They are healthy and clean with a bed to sleep in.” She could tell by the look on his face that she had not sounded too pleased by that and was wondering why. “The women here have very little to do with them. I also got the feeling that I stepped wrong when I tried to. Mrs. Beaton was not pleased. I just do not understand. They are all young and it would seem women would be drawn to them at least occasionally.”
“But they arenae.”
“Not at all. And the children need it. They have all lost everything. Parents, brothers, sisters, homes, and Noah even lost his new puppy. They do not need to be taken in by the women, but some adults tending to them might help ease that loss. Otherwise it seems to them as if they have lost everything and then been tossed into a place where there is no more than a bed and a meal. Adults can manage, but children? No, it is hard for them to understand. Noah stayed awake so that he could thank me for reading a story to them and then softly mentioned that his father always read him to sleep.”
“Damn. What did you say?”
“What can you say to a child? ‘Your da is dead’? I just told him it was a good memory and he should cling to it.”
He smiled and reached over to pat the hands she had clenched in her lap. “A verra good thing to say.”
“It was odd because at the evening meal he came to me as soon as the other women left. He wanted a roll with lots of butter so I gave him one. The other children had left already. Then he told me he was growing and he thought a bit more stew would help him grow, too.” She smiled when Matthew laughed. “I know I erred by feeding the children before the ladies but still wonder what possessed him to wait and then speak to me.”
“It could be as simple as ye feeding them first. Or you might have a look that reminds him faintly of his mother. The same hair or eyes. He probably cannae tell you as it is just a gut feeling. That is often what children act on.”
“I suppose. So, what has brought you here?”
“I just came to see that you had settled in weel.”
“It has only been one day. I have a place to sleep and got some food so I suppose it could be called fine. I just haven’t gotten to know anyone except Julia Hawkins.”
“Ah, Robbie Collins’s lady.”
“That is what she said. I know everyone’s name but not much else. More takes time.”
“I ken. It was just that I got to thinking on the comments made about Mrs. Beaton and wondered. Also took Boyd to the infirmary and the doctor was quite impressed by your work.” He grinned when she blushed. “You may hear from him soon as he said he is always looking for someone with a bit of skill to help him.”
“Well, I would be glad to help, but we’ll see if he can overcome the dislike of women doing something that comes close to doctoring. They might be letting women into the schools to learn about it but working at it is not easy.”
“Nay, I imagine doctors are very protective of their place there.” Matthew stood up. “Just wanted to warn ye in case he does come round.”
“Thank you,” she said as she stood, only to find herself so very close to him her heart skipped. “I will be ready if he calls.”
For a moment, he just stared at her and then he leaned over and kissed her. Abigail was too surprised to do anything but grab hold of his coat to steady herself. It was over quickly and when he leaned back she rapidly let go of his coat. He just smiled, lightly stroked her cheek, and walked out.
Abigail just stared at the door wondering what that had been all about. Was it just a sign of friendship or was he interested in her as a man was often interested in a woman? Since he had just left her there she had no answer. Shaking her head, she decided she would not think about it for it was sure to drive her mad.
She went into the room where the women were. Only a few were left although Abigail thought it a little early to go to bed. She located Julia sitting on a small settee and sat down next to the woman. Julia had a man she called her beau so maybe she could help. Abigail was just not sure she wanted to share the tale of the kiss as it suddenly seemed to be a very private thing.
“So what did Lieutenant MacEnroy want?” Julia asked.
“He just thought I should know that the doctor at the infirmary was impressed with the work I did on Boyd’s wounded arm and might stop by to ask if I wish to help sometime.”
“You know nursing?”
“I suppose you could say I do. My father was a doctor and he was always teaching me things. After looking at the wound the doctor must have decided I could be of some help as an aide.”
“Will you say yes if he comes and asks?”
“Why wouldn’t I if he really thinks I can help?”
Julia looked torn between fascination and horror. “Well, there would be wounded men and all the mess that goes with it and some of the men may be, um, indecent at some time.”
“And I suspect that is the sort of thing that the doctor would be shielding me from. He may not even ask so no need to worry over something that might not happen. But if he thinks I can help some of the wounded soldiers, how can I refuse?”
“I guess you can’t. Oh, I must tell you that you really annoyed Mrs. Beaton by feeding the children first, especially since she could not really say anything about it.”
Julia looked so pleased that Abigail decided she must see it as a good thing. Abigail was not so sure it was but had no inclination to change what she saw as neglect. She just hoped Mrs. Beaton did not find subtle ways to make her pay for what the woman must see as disobedience.
“I hope I have not made things awkward.”
“Why did you decide to do that?”
“Because they were being treated almost as an afterthought, like the dog that needs feeding or the like. They have been deeply frightened and wounded. Little Noah lost his parents, a sister, a brother, and even his puppy. Somehow it just seemed wrong.” She sighed, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling, which she noticed had some very elaborate plasterwork. “I just thought it wrong, that someone should take some notice of them.”
“Oh, I think they will now.”
“Why not before?”
“It clearly does not strike you, but Mrs. Beaton is a very formidable presence. We have all fallen into her habits and her ways and she has little to nothing to do with the children. She occasionally has a moment or two of fawning over the little girl, but that is all. I do not believe she likes the little boys much at all. Some have made mention of the fact that the children are ignored, but no one dares say so to her or act in any way that might offend her.”
“I suspect I will be offending her fine senses a lot then.” She smiled faintly when Julia laughed.
* * *
Matthew stepped outside and looked back at the door of the Woman’s House. Her mouth had been as soft and sweet as he had thought it would be. It was probably reckless to kiss her as he did, but he had been unable to stop thinking about her mouth and thus unable to resist the temptation to taste it when it was so close. What troubled him was that he knew now he would want another taste and more.
It was early to seek his bed, but if he was going to do some thinking whether he wanted to or not, he might as well do it while lying on his back. Under the blankets was a lot warmer than wandering outside now that winter had settled into the chilly, damp night air. He suspected his mind would wind about in circles but he could not stop it from preying on the matter of Miss Abigail Jenson.
Slapping his hat on his head and doing his coat up tightly against the cold, he started to walk back to where he had his bunk. Reminding himself that Abigail was a proper girl despite the fact that she could shoot better than most of them, deal with wounds so well her work impressed a doctor, and was plainspoken, she was not one of the girls at the saloon. He knew that reminder would not keep him away, however. He had to stop dancing around and really think of what he might want from her. One did not play love games with a girl like Abigail unless one was serious, and he was not sure just how serious he was.