"...Annie?"
The woman turned, her arm raised and hand open. A falling leaf fluttered into her palm as a slight wrinkle appeared between her brows and she stepped back, looking worriedly at the man standing in the doorway.
"Father, what are you doing up?" she chided, walking through the dried leaves scattered throughout the grass. "The doctor told you to stay in bed. Come now, you mustn't jeopardise your health like that," she said, taking hold of his shoulders to direct him back inside.
"Pah, I'm not going to die from a little breeze," the old man scoffed, though he obligingly turned. "I simply saw my daughter standing all by her lonesome from the window and thought I'd offer her my company, is that such a sin?"
Her face softened and she gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. "No...no, of course not, Father. Thank you for your concern, but you really ought to think of yourself more."
Mr. Hatcher stopped, putting his wrinkled hand over hers. "My dear, I could say much the same to you." Reaching up, he cupped her cheek, meeting her eyes. "...just like your mother, she always gave me that same look whenever I acted out. But how are you faring, Annie? It's been a few months now, hasn't it?"
Her lips thinned before curving into a smile. "I'm fine, Father, really," she said, resuming her push to get the old man back into bed. "I've you, and the Wilshires next door, and Miss Meghan Sunden over at the Heathers estate. With such warm souls around how could I not be fine?"
The man made another noncommittal grunt as he allowed himself to be led back to his room, climbing back into bed with a slight wheeze and a cough as the bedsprings creaked under his weight. Anna puffed up his pillows, setting them behind him before pulling the covers up to his waist.
"Is there anything I can get you, Father?" she asked, resting a hand on the edge of the mattress.
The old man glanced at her left hand on the covers and covered it with his. "No, I think I'll be fine, dear. In fact..." He made an exaggerated show of stretching and yawning. "I think that little trek out to the yard wore me out. I'm going to rest. Why don't you go out, dear? Stretch your legs instead of watching this old man sleep."
The implication of the man's words was not lost on Anna and she slowly nodded. "...alright then, Father." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, patting his hand. "I'll let Mrs. Wilshire know to keep an ear out. Rest well."
Straightening up, she checked to make sure the window was only open a crack before making her way out of the room, not completely shutting the door behind her. Tucking a shawl over her shoulders, she made a trip next door to the neighbours, letting them know the situation before heading off.
The trees were all changed now, the usual green branches either bare or painted in warm hues like a sunrise. Fallen leaves crunched under her feet as she walked down the familiar road, an occasional chill finding its way under her collar and cooling her skin.
She tugged her shawl closer as she approached her destination. Stepping through the old steel gates, she made her way down the path, meeting no one, no one else visiting the desolate place on such a day. Before long, she stopped in front of a grey slab of stone, a simple name carved into it; there were no dates. She kneeled down, touching her hand to the cold stone.
"How are you, Morris?"
- - - - - - -
People clamoured around her as she continued her hold on the doctor's sleeve, her cries echoing throughout the room as she begged, pleaded for none of it to be true, for the doctor to do something so that Morris would open his eyes again, smile and laugh and hold her as he always did, always does. This was all a dream, just a bad, terrible dream and all the doctor had to do was say a few words to make it all go away.
And then they came to take the body and she couldn't, they were taking him away and she would never be able to see him again. With a fresh bout of tears she threw herself over him, pressing her cheek against his chest like when she would rest her head on him during trips to the sea as they lounged lazily on the sand. She could feel it, she swore she could feel that steady, warm thumping of his heart. Wrapping her arms around him, she looked very much like a madwoman with her blood and tear-streaked face, her hair in shambles as she screamed and cried, begging them not to take him away, begging them not to separate him from her.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, a familiar voice that seemed like it was from a lifetime ago reaching her ears. Somewhere in her vision, she registered officers taking Thomas away too and she cried out, "No...p-please, no...!"
Kodak held her against him, held her flailing arms back as he murmured words of comfort so the distressed officers could take away the cooling corpse. She yelled, she screamed but she had no more strength left to even break away from the man's firm grip so she just let him tug her up, lead her to a chair as though she were a rag doll. That was all she was, wasn't she? A doll, a perfect image of an Englishwoman who not even an hour later had to walk off the ship on her own two, albeit shaky feet, her chin up and face clean and dry, because that was what was expected of her, that was what she had to do. She couldn't break down, not even as ship attendants loaded three people's luggage into the cab that would only seat one, not even as she bid farewell to the only person who'd shown her kindness all night, not even as the cab pulled up in front of her childhood home and she saw her father's jubilant face fall when she emerged without the prospective son-in-law she'd written so much about. She'd smiled at him, thanking the neighbour lady for all she'd done in her absence as she led her father back inside.
She never told him, not the whole truth anyway. As Morris had been accused but not convicted, he had been allowed a proper funeral with a marked grave. Despite his health, her father insisted on being present for the the small service, holding her hand as the simple casket was lowered into the ground, patting her arm as he mourned the loss of a man who must have been truly great for his daughter to have given her heart to him. She cried, but not very much, holding back just enough to still be considered proper to the few curious onlookers there were in the public cemetery. She would not let herself, let her father become the whisper of the town.
Later, though, as she soaked her weary limbs in the small tub, remembering that first night back when the blood that clung to her skin tinged the water red, she cried, she cried and cried until she thought she couldn't cry anymore, but she always could. The whole time her engagement ring remained on her finger, absorbing her tears as they had absorbed the blood of the man now buried and gone.
- - - - - - -
As she exited the cemetery, a wind blew and swept her bangs into her face. It was certainly getting colder, wasn't it...? Checking the time on her watch she turned at the next road to make a trip to the local market. She didn't bring a basket, but she could hold a few paper bags herself. A nice hot stew tonight...that would be lovely.
Stopping in front of a vendor, she was just perusing a few potatoes when a familiar voice called out behind her.
"Ms. Hatcher!"
She turned, a smile already on her face to greet the young girl quickly heading her way, a basket in hand and shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
"Good day, Ms. Hatcher!" Meghan Sunden greeted, a skip in her step. "I was hoping to see you here today!"
Anna chuckled, paying for the vegetables before turning to the girl. "Good day, Miss Sunden. Whatever could you be wanting to see me for?"
In retrospect, it was a rather terrible thing to be grateful for, but the girl's release from Marie Anne Heathers' service and into that of her aunt meant that she would always have a familiar, friendly face around Southampton. Though rather sullen in the days following their disembarkment the young Meghan seemed to have regained some of her previous spirit despite her new working conditions.
"For this, of course!" And with that, Meghan unearthed a container from her basket. "It's a mince pie! You said that your father was fond of these, right? So I had the cook show me how to make it. It took me quite a few tries but I do think I've got the gist of it now, so if you'd like, please enjoy it with your father, Ms. Hatcher."
"Oh?" Anna accepted the container with both hands, lifting the lid a crack to take a look at the contents. "Goodness, it looks delicious!" Replacing the lid, she nodded down at the girl. "Thank you, dear. I'm sure Father will love it."
The girl's face lit up and she spun on her heels, swinging her basket idly at her side. "I'll learn to make all sorts of things, Ms. Hatcher. That way, one day, when I get married, I can take care of my husband properly."
Anna laughed lightly, patting her on the shoulder. "And he will be a very fortunate man, dear." Looking down at her fondly, she mused, "You are approaching that age soon, aren't you?" She sighed, resting her hands in front of her. "Goodness, I feel terribly old! All you young people are going to leave me in the dust before long."
Meghan shook her head. "Oh, not at all, Ms. Hatcher! I still have so much to learn, I couldn't begin to compare with a woman like you!" She, too, sighed, kicking at a rock on the ground. "I can only hope to be half-- no, even a quarter as good a woman as you are one day!"
Amused, Anna tugged the girl's drooping shawl back up. "There's no need to emulate someone like me, dear. You're still young, after all, there's much time for you to grow yet." She chuckled. "In any case, men these days like girls with spirit, which you've plenty of, I assure you." She gave her a playful wink. "Who knows? Maybe you'll charm one of those fit sailors at the dock right off their feet one of these days."
The girl's eyes practically sparkled at the thought. "Oh, do you really think so?" She giggled. "I wouldn't mind being married to a sailor. A handsome man in uniform...imagine that!" Leaning back, she smiled up at her. “By the way, how is your new job treating you? You took the place of some cranky old man at the grade school, did you not?”
Anna put up a hand, muffling a laugh. “Dear, you really shouldn’t go around calling retired teachers ‘cranky old men’. But, yes, yes I did.” She let out a breath. “They were quite reluctant to hire me at first, you know. They’re not very fond of women below the age of sixty teaching around here, but desperate times called for desperate measures, I suppose.” She picked a leaf out of her hair. “Not that you’ll see me complaining anytime soon. Father’s military pensions will only go so far, after all.”
“I’m sure those children will like you much more than some old man, though,” Meghan said with an energetic nod. “If I were a student, I’d want to be taught by you, too!”
Anna laughed, pulling again at the girl’s ever-slipping shawl. “You flatter me, Miss Sunden. Shouldn’t you be running along? Your break will be over soon, won’t it?”
Meghan jolted, glancing at the time on Anna’s watch. “Goodness, you’re right!” She whirled around, dashing off. “It was nice seeing you, Ms. Hatcher! I hope you enjoy the pie!”
Anna chuckled, waving at the girl as she hurried off. "Yes, thank you, dear. Do try and stay warm, winter is coming!"
The other nodded, waving her arm through the air before disappearing into the crowd, shawl flying.
- - - - - - -
Three days after the S.S. Bremen docked, she received flowers from, of all people, Sylvia Sorvino, offering her sympathies. That same day, she found Kodak Smith stumbling around in front of her house with blood running from a small wound on his forehead, having been hit by the same bike that delivered the Sorvino flowers. After some initial panic and confusion, the neighbour's son helped carry him inside before running for the doctor. The man himself was perhaps even more confused than any of them, wondering what he was doing with the Ms. Hatcher he'd parted ways with three days ago in an unknown house with a pain in his head and another unknown woman (the neighbour lady) repeatedly shoving him back down every time he tried to get up from the couch. The doctor arrived and diagnosed him with a minor concussion, and after a rather awkward run-in with Mr. Hatcher followed by a night's rest at the Hatcher house, he was fine if not a bit embarrassed.
Not entirely unhappy to see a familiar, kind face, Anna offered to show him around the city, to help prevent any further accidents like the one that resulted from him aimlessly exploring the neighbourhoods only to collide with a delivery boy. After some initial hesitation, he happily agreed once she assured him that it wasn't any trouble, that she needed to take her mind off...off certain matters anyway.
It was while returning from one of these outings, as she parted ways with Kodak, that she saw another familiar face emerge from the house of an old family friend whose daughter had been with her mother on the RMS Titanic when it sank. She stopped in her tracks, blinking in surprise as the man bid farewell to the Callards, not having yet noticed her. The Oriental woman with him, however, did, and called his attention to her with a slight cough and a point.
Harper Morris turned, the perpetual smile slipping for a moment as his eyes fell on the woman he did not expect, and most likely did notwant to see.
She greeted him first, nodding her head politely at both journalists. "Good evening, Mr..." Ridiculous, how her voice caught in her throat from the name, but... "Mr. Harper."
Something unreadable passed over the man's expression as he took a few slow steps towards her, nodding in return. "Good evening, Ms. Hatcher. How have you been?" His companion quickly made herself scarce, clearly not wanting anything to do with the whole affair.
"As well as can be expected, Mr. Harper," she answered.
"I see."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Before the other could break it, Anna spoke up: "It was a...a good thing you did, Mr. Harper. Revealing the truth." Laughing softly, she looked down at her hands. "There will be families that may rest easy now, knowing what happened to their loved ones. It's a good trait, being able to see things clearly rather than blindingly trusting in what's in front of you."
Harper let out a wry chuckle, fiddling with the edge of the jacket draped over his arm. "It has its merits. But..." He seemed to ponder his next words for a moment before speaking: "But, he was worth your trust."
She looked up, blinking in surprise before her expression smoothed out, a wistful smile on her lips. "Was he...was he really?" All that he had done... If only she hadn't trusted him so, if only she had confronted him earlier...
"To trust is to make yourself vulnerable and to make the other valuable, Miss Hatcher," Harper continued gently. "In the end, it depends on what part of the trust you felt was betrayed. The part that said he was valuable and that you were valuable to him, or the part that had you assuming he wouldn't make horrible mistakes."
She shifted her eyes away, murmuring, "'Assuming he wouldn't make horrible mistakes'... Is that rather not childish naivete under the guise of trust?"
He didn't reply for a moment. Then, taking another step closer, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "He kept the trust that you're valuable to the end despite all the tragedy. It's sad that what we'd like is far from how things have to be, but despite all the horrible things, please keep his trust that you're valuable too and live a good life. That, I believe, is what your husband wanted to give you."
At those words she jolted, meeting his eyes. Biting her lower lip she took Harper's hand from her shoulder and cradled it in her own. "...so I shall, as best I can, though I've not so strong a soul as to make any promises. But you..." She gave his hand a squeeze. "You, Mr. Harper, did what you had to and what was right. Please don't let your part in revealing the very necessary truth be a burden upon your own shoulders."
Harper simply smiled: smiled that always there, never readable smile of his as he slipped his hand out of hers and turned to rejoin his companion. "Don't forget, but don't dwell. The past didn't occur for us to perpetually live in it nor to forget," he repeated the same words he'd spoken to her when they first met. Giving her one final glance back, he nodded his farewell.
"Good-bye, Ms. Hatcher. And remember, take the good in what he tried to give you, and strive on."
- - - - - - -
The penitentiary was colder than usual, if that was even possible. Her voice broke the freezing stillness, her song kept low enough that only the occupant of the cell in front of her could hear.
"Under the haystack
fast asleep,
will you wake him?
Oh no, not I.
For if I do,
he will surely cry..."
She faded off, pale grey eyes watching the figure huddled on the threadbare bed. She took a shaky breath, her hands lightly resting on the iron bars. "Are you asleep, dear...?"
A shake of the head.
"Would you like another song?"
A nod.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she nodded even though he couldn’t see. "Alright then--"
"Ma'am."
She turned her head. A guard stood a few feet away, a grim look on his face. "Ah..."
Turning back to the cell, she spoke gently, as though to a child. Then again, that was all he was at this point, wasn't he...? Ever since that night, his words, his mannerisms, the way he would ask her to sing him to sleep...none of that suggested anything but a poor little boy trapped in a grown man's body. "Give me one moment, dear. I'll be right back."
Standing up, she walked over to the guard, her hands folded in front of her. "Yes, officer?"
The guard looked at her, looked at the man in the prison cell, for to him he was still a man, one whose mind had simply regressed after sending a bullet through his own brother. "We need to begin the preparations, madam."
Her expression didn’t change though her hands curled into fists, gripping tightly at the fabric of her skirt. "...I see." It was...it was finally time. After months of debate and trial amidst growing opposition towards capital punishment...Thomas was going to leave her too.
Looking down, she watched the dim prison light reflect off the ring on her finger. The brothers would be together again... Pursing her lips, she ventured to ask: "...might I...sing him one more song?"
Something akin to pity flashed across the guard’s face. Reaching up, he tugged down the brim of his hat before turning and walking away.
She tilted her head back up as he left, smiling slightly even as her heart twisted in her chest. "Thank you."
Clasping her hands together, she made her way back to the chair the guards had set out for her. At first, her presence had attracted murmurs, curiosity; after all, it wasn't often that inmates received visitors that wasn't an overzealous reporter or some lunatic admirer, let along inmates convicted of murder. She leaned forward, her fingers loosely wrapping around one of the bars.
"I’ve one more song for you," she told him, trying to keep herself composed. "This will be...this will be the last one, dear, and then you...I must go.” Her voice cracked slightly and she had to take a deep breath before beginning to sing:
"Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
all through the night."
Her knuckles were white with how tightly she gripped the bars, trying to keep her voice steady. Behind her, she heard the guard's return. There was a jangle of chains as he and another moved past her, slipping a key into the cell's lock and sliding the door open with an enormous clank. They didn't try to stop her.
"Guardian angels God will send thee,
all through the night."
Going over to the man on the bed, the guards jerked him up, off the bed and into an upright position before pulling his arms behind his back and locking his wrists together with those horrible cuffs. Thomas didn't even resist, his eyes unfocused on everything except for the song that still continued.
"Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
hill and dale in slumber sleeping.
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
all through the night.”
They half-led, half-dragged him out of the cell. She followed after, and again they didn't try to stop her. Down the hall, around the corner, down another hall. The whole time, she forced herself to go on even as they got closer and close to the destination, even as the tears began flowing down her face.
"Angels watching, e'er around thee,
all through the night.
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
all through the night.
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
hill and dale in slumber sleeping..."
She inhaled sharply, holding back a sob as, at last, they reached a great wooden door. This was...this really was... She knew what he did, she knew but he didn’t...he didn’t deserve this, not Thomas...! Lifting her hand away from her mouth, she finished the song as the guards unlocked the door and more joined them, her voice thick and distorted.
"I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
all through the night..."
Her hands flew up to her mouth, muffling a cry. The tears were flowing freely now, and through blurry eyes she saw them opening the door, about to nudge Thomas through. Her arm shot out, grabbing the man's cuffed hands. "Wait!"
She turned her head, looking up pleadingly at the guards. "P-please, might I...might I say good-bye...?" Her voice was shaky and she tried to regain herself. She had to...she had to say a proper, a proper good-bye...!
The guards looked at each other, silent debate between them. Finally, they turned back to her and nodded.
"Thank you," she whispered. Giving Thomas's hands a squeeze, she moved so she was in front of him. "Thomas?" she forced a smile onto her lips. "It's time for me...time for me to go. These gentlemen are going to...to take care of you now, alright...?"
She couldn't stop it, she was crying again. Thomas's expression wrinkled into one of concern, the cuffs jingling as he tried to move his hands to wipe her eyes dry. She let out a soft, sad laugh, shaking her head. "It's alright, dear. I'm...I'm alright."
One of the guards coughed, earning himself a glare and a nudge from another. Anna glanced towards them before looking back at Thomas. Cupping his face with her hands she stood on tiptoe to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "...good-bye, Thomas."
She let go, and immediately the guards took him through the door. It slammed shut behind them and at that moment her legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor, her body trembling as her sobs echoed throughout the room.
- - - - - - -
"Have you kept in touch with that boy?"
Anna looked up from where she was sitting, confusion clear on her face. "What 'boy', Father?"
"You know, the one with the...with the face," Mr. Hatcher replied, making a gesture at his left cheek.
She blinked. "Oh... Kodak?" She shook her head. What an odd question... It had been a good two years now, since the American left Southampton. "No, I haven't. We never exchanged addresses or anything of the sort. Why do you ask?"
Her father grunted, settling back into the pillows. "Shame, shame..." was his only answer.
Over the last few weeks his condition had grown steadily worse. According to the doctor, it wouldn't be long now. She had taken a leave from the schoolhouse to tend to him full-time, determined to never let a loved one go without caring for them with the best of her ability ever again. With the growing tension in Europe as war raged in Spain, and Japan created trouble in Asia, who knew when the world might break into chaos. She would spend as much time with her father as possible.
Checking the time, she got up from her stool to prepare her father's medicine. As she poured some water into a glass the man spoke up again:
"I'll be gone soon, you know."
Her lips thinned and she focused on pouring the water. "Now now, Father, you shouldn't talk like that."
"But it's true, dear." Mr. Hatcher watched her, his eyes tender and filled with concern. "I'll be gone soon and you will be alone--" A fit of coughing seized him. Anna rushed over, rubbing his back until it subsided. He waved her off, breathing heavily. "I'm alright, I'm alright." His gaze flickered towards her hand, the engagement ring still present on her finger. "Annie, haven't you thought of...of moving on? Perhaps, finding another gentleman to take care of you."
She let out a small sigh, leaving his side briefly to bring over the water and medicine. "Father, we've discussed this already," she said, prompting him to take the pills. "Careful, don't dribble..." Holding the glass carefully, she waited until the old man had emptied it before continuing. "I can take care of myself just fine, you and I both know this. Besides, I'm hardly young and supple anymore. Who would want to marry some old schoolmatron with neither name nor money to offer?"
Mr. Hatcher opened his mouth as though to speak, but changed his mind. Sinking back, he tapped his fingers idly against the sheets, glancing at his daughter every now and then.
"...you know." He sighed, running a hand through his silvery hair. Oh, how he didn't want to have to say it so plainly like this, but perhaps, if she knew, there might be a chance... "That American, good boy. The way he looked at you..." He pursed his lips. He knew, he knew that his daughter was still in love with a dead man but she had to move on, and perhaps, this was the chance... "Annie, the way he looked at you...it was just like how I used to look at your mother."
He watched as the meaning behind his words sank in. His daughter paled, nearly dropping the glass in her hand before setting it down and slowly turning towards him, her eyes wide. "...what?"
He nodded.
She sank into the stool, staring at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth to protest but no, no...now that he said it, it...it made sense.
The way he'd looked at her, the way he'd acted that last morning at Morris's grave...
Slowly, she raised her right hand, felt again his lips on her skin, but this time, this time she knew that it wasn't just some gentlemanly gesture, but one of...one of...!
Her face dropped into her hands. Again, again she had been so blind to something like this. She bit her lip. She was crying again, and she had been doing so well, too; it had been months since she last shed such a tear but tonight, tonight she couldn't hold it back so she cried. She cried for her own ignorance, cried for Kodak's enormous kindness in keeping silent considering the circumstances, and she cried, cried because as wonderful as he was, as kind as he was, she did not
could not
love him back.
- - - - - - -
Her father passed away the next spring.
It was a large service, her father's friends from his time in the Royal Navy all showing up to offer their condolences. Thanks to them, and thanks to the Wilshires next door, she did not have to handle the funeral alone.
Meghan Sunden, by then Mrs. Meghan Wynn, was as supportive as ever. She helped her and Mrs. Wilshire clean the house and take care of her father's belongings. At the funeral, she stood by her side, giving her hand or shoulder an occasional comforting squeeze.
However, even that comforting warmth would soon be lost.
In September of that year, war broke out in Europe. Tensions and fear rose in Southampton as the German forces advanced, and when they took France anxiety was at an all-time high. Many a war veteran whispered about how precious Southampton was with its ports, and how much more that made it a target. Those who could began evacuating to small towns in the countryside that were less at risk of German bombs. The Wilshires next door evacuated the city and offered to take her along, they had room at their relative's house, but she couldn't leave Southampton. After all, three people close to her heart were buried here, and she could hardly leave young Meghan alone, could she?
Then the bombings on London started and the schoolhouses quickly cleared out as parents pooled their money to send at least their children to safety. With few students left to teach, Anna threw herself into the war effort, providing her assistance at the hospital whenever she could, ushering patients and children into shelters as the sirens wailed day and night. Meghan's husband, a sailor, was sent off to battle and she provided the young woman whatever support she could, trying to push them both through these difficult times.
In late 1940, Southampton was bombed. Seven churches and countless factories, homes, and lives were lost. Morris's grave, her father's grave, and even Thomas's unmarked grave were destroyed. Her house was flattened, her own life only spared because she had been at a well-fortified hospital shelter.
Meghan Wynn, too, perished in the attacks.
Having no time to grieve for her friend, or the child that was lost with her, Anna pushed on, doing whatever she could as the months passed and news, good and bad, flowed in. Finally, in May of 1945, war ended in Europe. The town erupted in cheers and tears for all the lives lost.
The town began to rebuild. There were children, children without families or homes and she tried to help them, worked with a group of others to convert a half-destroyed schoolhouse into an orphanage.
In 1949, at the insistence of one of her colleagues she took a trip abroad, setting foot on a ship for the first time in over ten years. Going the same route as her mother did on the RMS Titanic she landed in New York City that summer. She stayed at the Algonquin Hotel, walked the familiar lobby and halls and poolside. She didn't run into Kodak Smith (thank goodness), but she did hear his voice, flowing out from the wireless in the hotel lobby. Upon her return to Britain she drafted him a letter, sending it to the radio station. It was thirteen years late, but at the least, she could give him a proper acknowledgement and answer.
She made many trips over the next few years between Southampton and Calais, France, which had seen its own share of bombs by Allied hands in an attempt to disrupt its use as a fortified base of German communications. An old colleague was starting an orphanage there and wanted her help. With no family, no home, and no friends left in Southampton thanks to the war, by 1953 Anna was fully settled in Calais. She never married, but she gained a family in the orphans under her care. They'd run up to her, happily gurgling "Ms. Hatcher!" "Marm!", and the occasional "Mummy!", to which she would laugh lightly and chide, "No no, dear, you mustn't call me 'Mummy'. That's a very special word meant for a very special person." But they did it anyway, and she didn't mind so much. Even when those children were carried off by their new mummies and daddies she waved them off with a smile, for many would return years later to give her their greetings.
It was in a hardly orthodox way, but she kept her promise to Harper Morris. She took what Morris had tried to give her, and she strived on. She had found her own brand of happiness, and that, in itself, was enough.
- - - - - - -
May 17th, 1965
Calais, France
"I'm back."
The door creaked open, uprooting a kitten that had decided to lounge right in front of the entryway. Anna looked down at the scurrying feline and laughed. "Oh dear, did I disturb you?" She set down her groceries on the rug and picked up the small creature, nuzzling it. "I'm very sorry. Shall I get you some dinner, dear?"
The kitten meowed in response, prompting another laugh from the woman. "Alright then, dear." Putting the kitten down she picked up her bags, pausing in front of a cabinet upon which a photo frame was set up. She touched her left hand to the glass, her eyes glazing over as she gazed upon the yellowing photo inside.
"It's almost that time of the year again, isn't it...?" she murmured, gently running two fingers along the frame, touching the necklace draped over it. In the dim light of the room, her ring twinkled, years of meticulous care keeping it as pristine as it was the day it fell out of the champagne bottle and into her glass. "I wonder if I'm getting too old for these trips?" She laughed, leaning back and heading into the kitchen. She tugged an apron over her clothes, pulling her greying hair back. "Perhaps I should just move back to Southampton. They've done quite well in restoring things, you know. Though your graves will remain as simple as ever, I'm afraid. Well, that's to be expected, it was rather impossible to figure out what ashes are whose when half the town was in shambles."
The faucet turned on and she began to wash some vegetables. "I suppose it'd be rather nice to be among English-speakers again. Not that French isn't a beautiful language, I do love it, but sometimes you just grow nostalgic for that old Southampton lilt. And you know, this area isn't as safe as it used to be. There's been a series of home invasions lately." She shuddered. "What a thought."
The cutting board now, a rhythmic thunkthunkthunk echoing through the small house as she chopped up this and that. "Apparently they're working on some sort of tunnel, so you can just drive right across the Channel to Britain. Imagine that!" she laughed. "It won't be done until the 1990s at the earliest, though." She stretched, hearing the bones in her back crack. "I wonder if I'll still be around then. Well, only the good lord knows. If I am still alive and sane I'll be sure to have one of the children take me on a trip. Speaking of," she set a pot onto the stove, "Catherine and Jean-Marie came to visit today. You know, that pair of twins that no family would take together? They've been doing quite well since they left the orphanage. Catherine is studying to be a teacher, will you fancy that! She'll do well, the children will love her, she's such a sweet girl."
There was a clink as she set the lid on the pot and came back out, wiping her hands on her apron. Going over to a record player in the living room she turned it on, picking up the needle and setting it down. Her father had fixed Thomas's old gramophone back when he was still well enough, but it, along with most of her things, was lost in the Southampton Blitz. The only things she had left now from that time were the old photo and her necklace and ring, items she always carried on her no matter what.
As the slow piano track began she hummed along, spinning in a slow waltz across the sitting room. How long ago those days seemed, and yet how quickly they had passed by...
The clattering of the pot broke her out of her reverie and she hurried back into the kitchen. "Goodness, that gave me a fright!" she cried out in relief. "I really ought to be more aware of my surroundings, shouldn't I?"
She spooned out the stew onto a plate and set it on the counter to cool a bit. "You know, Morris, I've often wondered...would I join you when I die?" She emerged from the kitchen, a small dish of cat food in her hand. "It's a rather morbid thought, isn't it? But then I think, surely God has seen many a good man make a bad choice, and by virtue of their good hearts just gave them a bit longer of a path to salvation." She nodded to herself, setting the dish down for the kitten pawing at her feet. "So I've no doubt that I'll see you again in time. You, and Father, and Thomas as well." With a rather content sigh she turned, going to the sink to wash her hands.
The kitten happily ate away. Delicious meat! Licking its jaws, it looked up as a thump caught its attention. Turning around, it stared at the source of the sound, beginning to meow.
Anna came out of the kitchen, her brows furrowed. "What is it, dear? Is something wrong--" She froze.
The front door hung open, the lock jimmied loose. As she looked around frantically a figure emerged from the shadows, closing the door behind it with one hand. The other held a gun.
The woman felt her breath catch in her lungs as the gun rose, pointing directly at her. She broke out in a cold sweat, staring down the nozzle as her body remained still as a statue. This...was this how it was all going to end? What about the children? Who would help care for them? What about her loved one's graves? Who would set flowers on their graves every year?
She didn't want to die, she couldn't! Spinning on her heel, she made a dash for the kitchen. She could go out the back door, call for help--
There was a flash, a bang. A splash of red splattered onto the photo frame as the woman crumpled, hitting the ground with a dull, cold thud.
- - - - - - -
A bell rang as the door swung open. The man at the counter looked up, his face lighting up in surprise and recognition as a woman entered, her steps slow and careful as her bright eyes took in the inside of the shop. There was a pile of boxes on the counter blocking him from view, a new shipment of supplies that he had yet to unpack. Taking the chance to straighten himself out, pat down his collar and brush off the dust on his shirt, he made his way around the counter.
The woman was admiring a display of necklaces, leaning over slightly. As he walked towards her his foot fell on a creaky floorboard and she jolted, whirling around at the sound.
His hands flew up in a submissive position and he stepped back. "S-sorry," he said, a nervous smile on his face. "I just...good, good afternoon, miss."
Her surprised expression softened and she turned to face him fully, a small smile on her own lips as she returned the greeting. "Good afternoon. Ah..." She suddenly looked embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry, I was just...I've been looking at your shop for quite a while now, you see-- just from the outside! and I thought I should give it a...a proper visit."
He couldn't help but grin, charmed by how she was apologising for something like that. "Yeah, I, I know," he admitted, rubbing at his neck. "I've seen you, passing by."
She blinked, a small flush spreading across her cheeks at this piece of news. "Oh...!" She looked away, touching a hand to her face. "W-well, I...I'm glad I finally decided to come inside, then...! I do apologise for, for taking so long."
He laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head. "No, it's, it's alright. ...ah! Morris O'Grady." He extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss...?"
"Hatcher," she replied, taking his hand and giving it a warm shake. "Anna Hatcher. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. O'Grady."
