Soldiers' Verse William Scott One in the series 'New Excursions into English Poetry' which were published by Frederick Muller towards the end of WW2 and into 1946. The series contain original lithographs drawn by contemporary artists including Bawden, Craxton, onto the plate at Cowell's in Ipswich. In this case the lithographs are by William Scott and the book is frequently broken up for these. The whole project was overseen by Adprint, a fascinating organisation too. #williamscott #autolithography #adprint #soldiersverse #newexcursionsintoEnglish poetry #cowells
Last week, I commissioned comickergirl to draw Elsa in an early 1910s dress that I saw in a photograph when researching fashion for Now the Soldiers Pass Along. And Elsa looks absolutely gorgeous in that dress! The brocade, the hat, the gloves, the suit and skirt, everything.
Elsa is so gorgeous, and comickergirl so talented!
Easter Special! Chapter Six of “Now the Soldiers Pass Along”
So I thought I might as well put up the sixth chapter of Now the Soldiers Pass Along. It is a fast-forward chapter (although it’s the longest so far at just under 7000 words), and goes from New Year’s Day 1902 all the way up to the parents’ death. (I still have to get through the intervening three years, and oh boy, I think it’s going to be even worse for Elsa in some ways than it was for movie!Elsa. You’ll see when the whole fic is up...) This is just the first draft of this chapter, no doubt in need of some editing and refining! ;)
I know in the past I said I would post no more full chapters, but I decided to make this one an exception, so you can see at least a couple of the OCs that are still all to come in this story.
Chapter Six
The New Year of 1902 came and went on tip-toe with no sign of Elsa emerging from the other side of a closed door. Instead, the house fell quiet as everyone rested on the New Year pondering what the coming months would bring. Would they bring tidings of joy? Would they bring tidings of sorrow? Could they dramatically change their lifestyle before the New Year excitement lost its shine? Would Elsa come out of her room again? Would there be snow this year?
Would Elsa build a snowman with her if it did snow?
Anna held on to that hope of Elsa coming out of her room to play, even as it began to weaken with each passing week. Her hopes diminished, knowing that so far it was in vain, yet she didn’t give up. Anna was not one to give up so easily, and she would knock on that door until she was a hundred years old if she had to, just to see Elsa one more time.
I’m boreder than a bored…something.
Soon, Caroline returned to resume her governess duties. She looked even browner than usual, her black hair pinned up in an elaborate hairdo. No doubt, she had put in an extra padding or two to add to the illusion of voluminous hair under her hat. Anna hated that blue hat with its stuffed little fantail, and really wished the woman hadn’t been wearing it when she’d hugged her with a quick pat on the back. Even inside, she still didn’t take off that dastardly hat with its stuffed fantail. Anna tried her best not to look at the poor little thing.
“How’s my little student?” Caroline purred, “You had a good Christmas.”
Anna nodded. “It was good to spend it with my mother, father, and Elsa.”
Caroline’s face looked a picture of surprise. “So she came out.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Oh, I see,” Caroline pressed her lips together briefly, “Well, maybe she will one day.”
“One day.”
An awkward silence.
“Are you looking forward to school again?” Caroline asked. “It will be nice to see how much you have improved your writing.”
Anna grinned up at her. “A lot.”
“Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Caroline swiftly turned to hang her purse with its beaded fringe on a coat hook. “I do hope you will pay more attention in lessons this year. A good resolution to have for any student, I believe. You will learn a lot when you hear well.”
Anna had nothing to say to that, but nodded anyway. It looked like she was going to spend another year with her newly appointed governess. But not even the most entertaining lesson would be the same without Elsa waiting for her to finish so they could spend time together. But it was only the New Year of 1902. Anything could change in twelve months. Perhaps this year, Anna would be able to play with Elsa again.
Summer passed away and autumn drifted on brown and gold leaves into the Arendelle Household’s lives. The trees in the backyard lost their green and became imbued with gold, red, and brown as the crinkling leaves died. The weather turned nippier, with the faintest of chills in the air. The warm days but freezing nights were the first warnings to stock up and prepare for the long winter months. The days shortened and nights lengthened with alarming rapidity as winter of 1902 came inexorably closer. Anna tucked herself under more blankets and quilts as the days cooled over the rest of autumn. June came in with a bright blue sky, but the ground sparkled with winter’s first frost. When Anna had walked out that morning, she hadn’t realised frost covered the steps and slipped over backwards, smacking her head on a step. But she didn’t cry and ignored the oncoming bruise—Elsa wouldn’t cry, and she wouldn’t either. The ouchie would go away before she knew it.
While ouchies of the flesh can be healed, the heart is another matter. June 21st was Elsa’s birthday, and surely she’d come out of her door! She couldn’t possibly stay behind her door, locked alone in her room all day for her own birthday. On the day of Elsa’s ninth birthday, Anna had no sooner woken up then she scooted out of bed, racing down the hall to her sister’s door.
“Happy birthday, Elsa!” Anna chimed through the door, “Are you going to come out for your birthday? Nine is a big age! I want to be nine one day! I have to wait—” Anna counted on her fingers, “three whole years! Well, three years after I turn six years old soon!”
Silence. Anna’s brilliant grin that could have lit up the dawn faded away into disappointment, her eyes dulling with dismay.
“I hope you’ll come out today,” she said, her voice a lot quieter, “I want you to have a happy birthday today, because I love you.”
Elsa never came out at all for her birthday, even though Anna waited outside her door—today was a Saturday, with no lessons to be had—all day. She ate two slices of chocolate cake outside the door (she made sure her parents gave Elsa two slices as well—it was only fair) and slid a hand-drawn card under the door as well. On its front, she had scribbled a birthday cake and two stick figures with red and blonde hair and smiling faces.
The birthday cake had nine candles.
If Elsa didn’t come out for her own birthday, maybe she would for Anna’s sixth birthday on the first day of September—which happened to fall on a Monday, meaning lessons would still happen regardless. But Caroline had promised she’d make it a half-day of lessons, spending time with her until lunch-time and then leaving her to celebrate the rest of the day.
Anna waited all breakfast for Elsa to come down and join her, since it was her birthday. She refused to eat her breakfast, waiting for her sister to appear at the table. Anna subconsciously noticed that there was no extra plate for Elsa at the table, but chose to hang on to her hope that she’d come down anyway. Only when her own breakfast was almost cold and her parents scolded she would be late for lessons, did Anna then consume her food, trying to hide her crushing disappointment.
She’s not coming down after all.
Anna could barely concentrate at all on her lessons. She tried to look happy for Caroline’s sake, pretending to be all excited that she had now turned six. She pretended that her periodic sniffles were the last remnants of a cold she’d had a couple weeks before, when really all she wanted was to see Elsa. What had she done so wrong to Elsa that she refused to see Anna on her own birthday?
After lunch, Anna finally got to see her own cake which, naturally, was also chocolate like Elsa’s had been. The servants and parents were cheery as they gathered around the table to partake in the celebration of the girl’s sixth birthday. But to their surprise, Anna took her plate, quietly informing everyone she was going to Elsa’s door. Her parents tried to persuade her to stay, but even they couldn’t kid themselves that Anna was willing to not spend the birthday as close to Elsa as possible. Idunn placed a hand on her husband’s arm, looking up at him with silent words in her irises. He relented, nodding at Anna, giving her permission to go upstairs to Elsa’s room. Taking another plate of cake, Anna tip-toed upstairs to go sit outside her sister’s door. Once there, she placed the second plate on the floor just under the door handle. Careful not to squish the cake or drop her own slice, Anna slid her back down the door until she was sitting against its wood. She picked up the silver fork, picking at the dessert in a disinterested manner, nibbling at minute pieces of her cake, not saying anything for a long time.
“I put some cake outside your door,” Anna told her after a long time, “In case you wanted some too.”
When she finished her own slice and put the empty plate down on the floor by her feet, her eyes flickered back to Elsa’s slice. It was so tempting, and her sweet tooth ached for more.
It’s for Elsa, she reminded herself, It is not nice to eat other people’s slices of cake!
A wiggling white thing edged its way under the door, drawing Anna’s attention. Shifting over, she looked down to see a piece of paper being fed through the crack between the door and floor. Her spirits lifted—it couldn’t be from anyone but Elsa.
Did she make me a card?
A soft knock on the door, but it wasn’t from Anna. The paper waggled from side to side, as though Elsa wanted Anna to take it, which the latter gladly did. There was no doubt that Elsa had not forgotten her, judging by the neat calligraphy on the front: “Happy birthday, Anna.” Anna opened the little card and a bright grin stretched from ear to ear.
“Sorry I can’t be with you today, and I wish I could be. I hope you have lots of cake. I will get my slice later, as long as you haven’t eaten it.”
Anna muffled a giggle behind her hand. Good thing she had managed to resist eating it—Elsa knew well enough how little self-control Anna had around chocolate.
“Thank you, Elsa,” Anna called through the door, “I hope you’re alright today too.”
With a skip in her step and a song in her voice, Anna danced away from Elsa’s door to show her parents, the gardener, and the servants her card from Elsa. Caroline had left, but sure as the sun rose in the East, she would be privy to the card as well. No doubt about it—Anna was the happiest six year old in New Zealand that day.
She just didn’t know that twenty-three more birthdays—hers and Elsa’s combined—would be spent just outside Elsa’s locked door for at least part of the day. Only one of Anna’s birthdays was not spent outside Elsa’s door, but with a new companion Anna would make in at least a few more years to come.
Three more years passed, and Anna was finally nine years old, and Elsa twelve. Four years of knocking at Elsa’s door had not worn down the little girl’s spirit—not yet. Nor had four more birthdays spent outside her sister’s door cause her to give up. She cajoled, persuaded, bargained, and begged Elsa to come out of her door and play and meet her new companions their parents had her meet so she wouldn’t be so alone anymore. Nine-year-old Anna couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that she had become very quick and mutual companions with the daughter of a Swedish family. Their neighbour’s daughter had an older brother and would have had a younger sister, but sadly she had died of scarlet fever at three. The father had never quite been the same again, but their mother had got on with her life quickly, though she still paid a weekly visit to the cemetery where her daughter rested in peace.
Anna and her parents’ visits to the Lundgrens were very sporadic, for they lived quite a way out of the city centre. The visits were few for another reason—Elsa. Idunn and Agdar feared that if they went too regularly, the family might start questioning why Elsa never came along. Despite the sporadic visits, Anna became fast friends with Jannike, though not so much with her older brother, Osvald, who was always out playing cricket with his friends. Both girls became close friends in a way Anna wished she could be with Elsa too. They shared hours of companionship together, one of their favourite memories being an afternoon out motoring with Osvald, who was only too happy to drive them to half a day’s adventure. Anna and Jannike clasped hands in excitement, thrilled at this new experience.
“One day,” Anna had called up to Osvald, “I’m going to drive.”
Osvald laughed, a hearty bass. “Wait up, girl! Not so fast! Won’t be for a few years yet, ja?”
“How long is a few years?”
“Let’s see…you’re nine, ja?”
“Ja!” Anna merrily echoed with a goofy grin.
“Well, well, well, nine is a big age, ja?”
“Seventeen is a bigger age.”
Osvald chuckled, running his hand through red hair, making it stand up on end. “Ja. Well, how does seventeen sound to you, ja? When you’re my age, you can drive.”
“I’ll be driving as soon as I’m seventeen.”
Jannike giggled, a hand over her mouth. “On your seventeenth birthday.”
Anna crossed her arms with a pout of utter seriousness. “Of course I’ll start driving on my birthday, Jannike.”
“Osvald,” Jannike addressed her brother in her most solemn of voices, sounding exactly like a younger version of her mother, “Do you solemnly swear, hand over heart, to show Anna how to drive on her seventeenth birthday?”
Osvald thumped his fist over his heart. “I solemnly swear to uphold my oath that I will teach Anna Arendelle to drive as soon as she is seventeen.”
“I’m recording your oath in my journal,” Jannike informed him, “Because I’ll open that again when Anna turns seventeen.”
“Jannike,” Anna nudged her friend, leaning over to speak low, “How far away is seventeen for us?”
Jannike grinned. “That’s eight years away for you and six for me.”
Anna gaped—Jannike didn’t even blink once nor use her fingers and already had it all figured out in her head.
“How do you do that?” she marvelled.
“Do what?”
“Do maths in your head without fingers?”
Jannike shrugged with a bashful little smile. “I’m that good, I suppose.”
“She’s younger than me, and I have to use my fingers to subtract one,” Osvald chimed in from the driver’s seat, “I’m terrible at maths.”
“I still need to use my fingers to add one plus one,” Anna claimed, though she was only half-joking.
Osvald took his eyes off the road a moment to glance back at Anna with a brief wink. “Well, we can be bad at maths together, then.”
“My sister is probably really good,” Anna said almost absent-mindedly, “Father says she has a really good knowledge of geometry.”
“I love geometry!” Jannike squealed, in the same way someone a few years older than her might over a particularly dashing young man. “I have a crush on geometry!”
Perhaps that comparison wasn’t so far-fetched. Osvald’s laughter seemed to shake the very sky with its heartiness. He rolled his shoulders as he leaned back on the seat, content to keep driving.
“You have a crush on geometry?” Anna asked Jannike with a disbelieving shake of her head. “You can’t marry maths.”
Jannike flashed brilliant white teeth. “Of course you can!”
“No use arguing with Jannike, Anna! She’s got her mind made up, ja?”
“Oh shush, Oscar.” Jannike groaned, but she couldn’t hide her amusement.
“Hey now, don’t call me Oscar, unless you want me to drive back home, ja?”
“No!” both girls chorused at the same time.
With another little chuckle, Osvald sped up, the girls leaning back their heads, closing their eyes to lose themselves in the thrilling sensation of the drive. The wind whipped at the veils protecting their faces and necks from dust and wind, and tried to nip through thick fleece-lined coats and gloves to no avail. The car juddered and bumped under them, wheels churning up dust as they sped over distant country roads. Their picnic was still safe in the passenger seat, supervised by Osvald. Whenever the car juddered enough that it looked as if some of their picnic might fly away for freedom, the boy’s hand shot out to land on the cloth covering the goodies, ensuring nothing was lost. There was no need for any innocent sheep or lone traveller to be hit by an unidentified flying loaf.
Finally, they reached the clearing where the picnic would be set out. Osvald parked the car under the shade of a tree and collected the picnic as the two girls hopped out, unwrapping their veils from their necks and faces, wiping perspiration off their foreheads as the sun’s warmth suddenly hit them in the absence of a feisty wind. The two friends chirped merrily between themselves as they helped Osvald unwrap and set out the picnic, settling down on cushions to protect their dresses from any grass stains. The two girls laid their closed parasols side by side next to Osvald’s elegant walking stick. He had no need for a walking stick, but it was the fashion of the time for men of good breeding to carry one.
All in all, the picnic made for one of the brightest memories Anna ever remembered for all her nine years. Finally, she had someone near her age to not only spend time with, but also play with. She still felt a little bad, thinking of Elsa hiding behind her locked door, unaware of the pleasures of picnics with companions under a bright blue sky and cheerful sunshine. If she were to be truthful with herself, Anna would admit she even felt very sorry for her sister. Whatever it was keeping her behind her door, it wasn’t allowing her the freedom to enjoy life. When was the last time Elsa had ever felt fresh air on her face? When was the last time Elsa had basked in the glory of a warm summer’s day or played in the crunchy leaves of autumn? Though Elsa had stepped outside her room from time to time, Anna couldn’t remember Elsa ever stepping outside into the expanse of the world beyond the front door.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Huh?”
Anna realised that both Jannike and Osvald were looking at her with some concern.
“Oh…yes, I am,” Anna assured, “I was just thinking of Elsa.”
Both her companions became very still, Jannike reaching out to pat Anna’s hand. Two pairs of eyes silently encouraged Anna to go on.
“I have never seen her outside, nor has she ever wanted to,” Anna continued, “I wish she were here to see how fun a picnic is.”
“Would she have enjoyed the car, do you think?”
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem interested in anything outside.”
Osvald shook his head, frowning in his puzzlement. “Surely, she must have been outside sometime.”
Anna plucked a few bits of grass, twirling the stalks idly between her fingers.
“I don’t remember her ever going outside,” Anna’s voice stayed firm, but her eyes remained glued to the slowly twirling stalks of grass. She didn’t want them to see the sadness in her eyes. “She’s never been interested in snowmen, or playing in leaves, or even just being out in the garden. I’d go mad from being inside day in and day out.”
Osvald leaned back on his hands. “She must have had a window open at least. Even a little fresh air is better than none.”
Anna nodded—at least this she could answer. She remembered many times when she’d look up from the garden and see Elsa’s window open, letting in fresh air and sunlight. When Elsa’s window was open, Anna would call up to Elsa, calling for her to join her. On occasion, Anna would see Elsa peek out of her window, two blue eyes gazing down at her with a little wave of her gloved hand. Every time Anna would call and gesture to Elsa to join her, the older girl would give a sad shake of her head and pull the window shut. Most times, Anna, despite a pang of disappointment, would move on and play by herself. There were a couple times when she got fed up enough to attempt to throw things up at the window, only for said items to hit the wall of the house instead.
“Yes,” Anna confirmed, “she often has her window open.”
“Maybe one day she will be brave enough to come outside,” Jannike offered, “even if it’s just the back steps or a quiet area of the garden.”
Anna pursed her lips as Jannike’s words stirred some sort of recollection, lost in the blurred expanse of years that had passed since Elsa shut her out. She was sure she’d sometimes peeked out a window into the garden at night and saw a lone figure wandering the garden. This had happened just a few times in the depths of night when Anna knew it was only the wee hours of early morning, yet her brain insisted it was already time to wake up.
“Actually, I think she’s been in the garden at night a few times,” Anna admitted, “But every time, I thought it was just a dream.”
“Maybe she’s a night person,” Osvald suggested, “Only prefers to come out at night.”
“Like a bat.” Jannike added.
Even Anna found this an odd sort of comparison, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t known for those either.
“Why a bat?”
“Because bats come out at night,” Jannike explained, “Even though you don’t have any here.”
“Actually, New Zealand does,” Osvald corrected, “Seen them a couple times when travelling with my cricket team.”
“Well, Elsa is definitely not a bat,” Anna assured, “I think we would know by now.”
“Either way, if she only goes outside after dark, clearly, she’s a creature of the night.”
“Still not a bat.”
Jannike cleared her throat, “But she does notice you, doesn’t she?”
“Well, if I wave at her from the garden and she’s looking out of her window, she does wave back,” Anna’s shoulders slumped, “but she doesn’t come to play with me.”
“That’s a start, isn’t it?”
“She has never told me why she doesn’t play with me!” Anna almost shouted, frustration coming to the forefront, “I don’t know if it’s something I did, and I’ve tried thinking about it a lot. She just doesn’t want to play with me at all!”
Anna launched a piece of her sandwich at some waiting gulls, venting her frustration into her throw. At once, the gulls scrambled and squabbled over the tossed piece of morsel. Their loud squawking caught the attention of a giggling young toddler, who immediately ran over to chase them into the sky. Even Anna couldn’t help but feel a little cheered up at the charming scene. There were probably seagulls still alive today who were once terrorised by a screaming little girl with red hair and wind-milling arms long ago.
“I know mother told me she’s getting too old to play anymore, but she was eight when she shut me out. Eight-year-olds still want to play. I’m nine and I like to play.” Anna glanced over at Jannike. “You’re eleven and you still like to play.”
“We grow out of it at different times,” Jannike said in her most sensible voice, “I haven’t yet, but maybe Elsa had.”
“Yea…maybe.”
“Let us think of happier things, shall we? Like that happy little boy scaring off the gulls.” Jannike pointed toward the squealing boy still chasing after the poor birds.
“Yeah, let’s,” Anna agreed, “after all, we’re having fun on this picnic, aren’t we?”
So the three companions turned their thoughts away from the topic of Elsa’s lonely existence, locked away in her own bedroom, just focussing only on relaxing in each other’s presence for the rest of the unseasonably warm afternoon. At the end of the day, all agreed they had a wonderful time, and Anna couldn’t remember the last time she had ever come away from an outing so happy before, even despite a niggling sense that something—or someone—was missing.
When she was home, Anna naturally talked to Elsa all about the picnic, yet downplayed how much fun she had with her new friends. If she downplayed how enjoyable it was, then perhaps she wouldn’t make Elsa feel bad about not being with them.
“You would have loved it, Elsa,” Anna declared outside the door, “We need to go on a picnic one day, Elsa. Promise we go on a picnic together one day? It’s lots of fun!” Anna clapped her hands together several times, emphasising the delights of such excursions. “We’d just go together like sisters. I know we have done picnics before, when we were very small.”
She expected the silence from the other side of the door. It didn’t mean it didn’t still sting even after four years. Anna was never sure if Elsa ever heard anything she said, but she regaled her adventures anyway. After all, who else was there to talk to besides her parents and the servants at home? She didn’t even see Jannike and Osvald that many times a year, their parents cautious in their visits to the Lundbergs.
“We’re going on picnics again,” Anna promised, “And if you want to come on the next one, I’ll make sure you’re not left behind. Jannike and Osvald are the best friends I’ve ever had—but you’ll always be my bestest friend in the whole world.”
Even if you never talk to me, Anna thought, then quickly suppressed the thought with a twinge of guilt. Maybe it wasn’t Elsa’s fault she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—talk to her.
On the other side of the door, Elsa closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the wood as she listened to Anna’s exited regaling of her day’s excursions. She couldn’t help but smile when Anna declared she would start driving at seventeen. When Anna had her mind set on something, not even a hundred elephants could sway her from it. All Elsa could do was just hope that the boy Osvald would keep Anna safe when she did have her first go driving one of the new automobiles on her seventeenth birthday.
You seem to trust this Osvald boy, Elsa thought, wishing she could telepath them directly into Anna’s head, I can only hope I can trust him and Jannike to keep you safe too.
More seasons passed, and Anna began to blossom from childhood into the first inklings of youth. Like the young trees of spring, she quickly began to catch up to her mother in height, and the first hints of womanhood began to mould her body into the future beauty it would be. Her limbs grew lanky and long, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with suddenly longer arms and legs. This, of course, led to more accidents and no less than two precious vases had been smashed before the servants decided to relocate other precious vases to safer places. Once, she had tumbled down the whole flight of stairs, and, by some small miracle, did not break any bones, although one wrist was sprained and she felt downright black and blue for a few days. But this accident had also led to one of Elsa’s very rare appearances when she’d hovered in the same room as a doctor checked that Anna hadn’t broken any bones or worse. It was during the doctor’s ministrations that Anna had got a good look at Elsa.
Elsa seemed to have become exponentially more gorgeous than Anna ever remembered her to be before. Now a dignified young woman of sixteen years of age, if she had spent her life outside her room with no fear, she might have met some handsome young gent by now. Her blue eyes were as wide and beautiful as Anna remembered them, but now they had a certain depth to them that Anna didn’t understand. Almost like there lingered thoughts that Anna couldn’t decipher, and that only frustrated her all the more. But what shocked Anna most was the words that came out of Elsa’s mouth.
“Do be more careful, Anna.”
Anna had blinked at Elsa, surprised she’d addressed her at all. She was so accustomed to silence from Elsa that it was odd to hear her speak.
“I…I’ll be. I’ll try anyway.”
Was it Anna’s imagination, or did the hint of a smile quirk at Elsa’s lips, softening cold blue eyes to a semblance of warmth?
Anna continued to be friends with Jannike and Osvald, both of whom never ever told anyone else about Elsa. Both siblings had solemnly sworn not to ever tell anyone else what Anna said to them of Elsa. If either did let slip even a word about Elsa’s solitude to some other friend, this terrible betrayal would shake the trust between them all. Anna could tell that if anyone else tried to persuade her secrets from them, then the perpetuator would have to prise the secrets from cold, dead hands.
Alas, as all children do, there came a time when Anna no longer wanted to play, not in the same way as a child does. Jannike had been right—it was all too common for children now on the cusp of adulthood to put away play and focus on adulthood that loomed on the horizon ahead. There were no more romps up and down the hall (though Anna still liked sliding on the carpet), the doll of Elsa was tucked into a forgotten corner of an unused drawer, only the wind pushed the lonely swing under the tree in the garden, and no more snowmen appeared in the winter.
“Only children build snowmen,” thirteen-year-old Anna had declared to Elsa on a snow day, “And I’m too old to build snowmen anymore.”
Perhaps, if she had seen Elsa sink onto her bed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, knowing Anna’s childhood was truly over, then Anna would have taken back the words. As the door remained solidly closed, Anna never saw this, but no doubt, if she had, she would have at once taken back her declaration and built as many snowmen as she could before night fell the same day. And even when night had fallen, she wouldn’t have stopped until her parents came out to check she hadn’t frozen to death yet. Assuming Anna hadn’t frozen from the chill, they would have scolded and ordered her to get back inside and change out of her wet clothes and get warm by the fire.
Jannike and Anna spent more time together, and the latter was all too thrilled to help her companion pick out the perfect kitten to keep when another neighbour’s cat had an unexpected litter. Jannike picked the smallest kitten, naming it Cherie, for it was her favourite French name. Their time together with the kitten—who became a cat in no time—helped to strengthen their friendship even more.
Anna’s fourteenth birthday would be the first and only time she wouldn’t spend at least part of the day outside Elsa’s door. Instead, she had gone out to spend a full day and night with her new companions, celebrating another birthday with the two siblings. There was much feasting, dancing with handsome young men, croquet on the lawn, and even a little game of tennis once everyone got tired of the former sport. Even Jannike’s brother managed to bring himself to play a game of tennis against Anna, who finally won against him after five losses. She’d tried to do a little dance of victory, but her restricting hobble skirt didn’t allow for the moves she attempted, and Anna found herself on her behind on the grass. She’d had to reach out a hand to be helped up by Osvald, pretending he was her knight in shining armour, even adding a hand to forehead like she was a classic damsel in distress.
Only when Anna’s father came to collect her from the Lundbergs did the girl realise she had not thought about Elsa even once. Suddenly, the once-light presents in her arms weighed heavy, reminding her of how much fun she had all day and last night. When Agdar enquired after her sudden change in mood, Anna perked up again at once, telling him there was nothing to worry about. She had her glorious day and nothing could make her happier.
Except for Elsa unlocking her door.
Anna looked out at the passing scenery, chewing on her bottom lip absent-mindedly. She hadn’t even felt like something was missing, and now a great hole had opened inside her. A hole gaping wide and black and bottomless. She had forgotten about Elsa all together, a thing she had never done before. Even in her most delightful excursions, she still remembered Elsa to some extent, hoping that in some way, she was there too. But her fourteenth birthday was the first time in forever she had completely forgotten Elsa.
I forgot Elsa…oh God forgive me. I forgot my own dear sister…
She was grateful for the veil over her face and neck, for it hid the tears now coursing thick and fast over still-round, rosy cheeks. She didn’t care that she tasted the salt of her tears, for every one of them was deserved.
So much for a happy birthday.
Already, her fourteenth year of life had gotten to a bad start. She hated herself the entire trip back, and couldn’t wait to get home to knock on Elsa’s door. Not with tidings of happiness, but of guilt and horror that she had managed to forget about Elsa entirely during her joyous celebration at the Lundbergs’ home.
I’m sorry, Elsa.
She stayed true to her promise. No sooner had she arrived home, then she raced up the stairs, gifts still under both arms, and dumped all the presents just inside her bedroom. Leaving her door ajar, she’d paced up to Elsa’s door, knocking on it for the first time in weeks. She didn’t care if she was still wearing her motoring outfit—Elsa was more important right now.
“Elsa?” Anna’s voice sounded thick with her tears. She cleared her throat. “Elsa, are you in there?”
Anna heard a quiet knock on the wood; she’d come to realise long ago that Elsa only did this when it was abundantly clear when the younger sister needed a sympathetic ear. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.
“I…I had a wonderful fourteenth,” she started, “Jannike and her family were as wonderful as always. But…”
Of course there was no response. Anna didn’t expect any.
“…I forgot about you all together in my excitement.” She looked up, lifting her head from the door. “I’m sorry, Elsa. I can’t believe I did that, but I did. And I’d promised I wouldn’t. I don’t know when I said I’d promise not to forget you, but I think I did. I mean I’m sure.” She let her forehead meet the wood with a groan. “Ugh, I’m rambling again. Anyway, I still had a wonderful birthday. I mean, I’m fourteen. And…I’m supposed to be happy. I mean, they say happy birthday, don’t they? And who are these ‘they’ people anyway?”
“Anna?”
Anna flinched—Elsa had actually answered.
“Elsa?”
“It’s…it’s fine, Anna.”
“What’s fine?”
A long pause, long enough that Anna just about walked away if it weren’t for Elsa answering.
“Forgetting me.”
“What?” Anna asked, not quite believing that Elsa would be completely fine with being forgotten by her own sister. “No, no, it’s not fine, Elsa. You’re my sister and I don’t want to ever forget you, not again. You don’t deserve to be forgotten.”
This time, no answer came, and Anna finally walked away, saddened that Elsa would ever think she deserved to be forgotten.
No, Elsa, Anna swore silently, I will never forget you no matter what.
Then the worst blow came to the family, just one month after Anna’s birthday in 1911. Their parents had been invited up north on a boating excursion, and they had accepted. However, the prospect of a holiday hadn’t been the only reason they had accepted. For, now that Elsa was eighteen and Anna fifteen, their parents began thinking of potential suitors for their daughters. Anna hoped that she might be allowed to marry for love and not because her parents had found the best “match” for her.
The day their parents were leaving, both sisters were there to bid them bon voyage, understanding they would return in a fortnight. Anna had thrown herself at her mother and father, arms encircling them in a big hug, while Elsa greeted them at the foot of the stairs, seeing them off with a “do you have to go?” and a little nod of her head.
“You’ll be fine Elsa,” would be the last thing they would ever say to Elsa.
The telegram arrived just days later—only two days short of a full week. Elsa heard the knock at her door, Gerda’s voice following after, curt and urgent.
“Telegram.”
Elsa’s breath caught in her throat, a hand flying to her mouth. A telegram could only mean one thing: something terrible had happened to their parents. Dizziness and an overwhelming sense of panic swamped her as her shaking hand reached for the knob. Her fingers shook so much they sipped from the handle, and it took several tries before she grasped the knob with her life and turned it, opening the door just enough to see Gerda.
“What happened?” Anna called from down the hall, her footsteps hurrying to where Gerda stood. Then—a cry of dismay as Anna undoubtedly spotted the telegram in the servant’s shaking hands. Even she knew that something awful had to have happened for one of those to be sent.
Gerda nodded at Elsa, who had backed a few steps away from the door, wringing her hands, a look of fear in her eyes.
“Do you want to open it?” Gerda asked her.
Elsa shook her head, gesturing for the woman to open it. But then Anna reached over and swiped the telegram from her hands, ripping it open, fingers clutching the paper so hard as she read its contents. Elsa waited, the hall somehow too quiet, as Anna looked up with eyes that brimmed with unshed tears.
“Boating accident. They’re d-dead.”
Her mouth moved a couple more moments, but no sound came forth.
“Elsa…if you want…”
“I’ll be fine, Anna.”
Elsa shut the door before Anna could see the ice that was forming on the floor, the walls, and ceiling of her bedroom. She clenched her eyes shut, nails digging into the cold wood of her door, silent tears tracking down her temples into her hair. She could hear Anna knocking on her door, begging to be let in anyway, because, for the love of God, didn’t Elsa see they needed each other right now?!
“Elsa! Please just open the door! Just let…let me…” Anna’s words dissolved into sobs, and Elsa could hear Anna slide down the door to the floor with a thump. “Please, Elsa…I’m…we’re alone. I’m…your sister. You can’t even come out the door to comfort your own sister?”
Ice cackled and laughed at Elsa as it thundered over the bed, dresser, fireplace, everything. Elsa buried her head in her hands, sobbing perhaps just as hard as Anna on the other side of the door. Her hands ached to open the door and take Anna’s hand in her own. Her arms yearned to wrap themselves around Anna, hold her tight, rock her as she cried her heart out.
The ice stopped crackling, the silence so sudden Elsa snapped her head up, eyes round with confusion and caution. For a fragile moment, she thought she could be safe. That she was now in control, and if she stayed in control long enough, she could open the door—
Ice bloomed ominously over the floor at her feet, crawling and cackling its way up the doorframe. Shivering, Elsa brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she bowed her head in sorrow. Of course she couldn’t control it. She would never be able to control it. She would never be safe around Anna. She was a monster to be contained in the walls of her bedroom, unable to be brought out into the world. As long as she stayed in here, alone in her grief, yet aching so terribly for comfort that it hurt, Anna would be safe.
Elsa didn’t know when Anna’s sobs subsided nor when she got up and walked away, but somehow when she did leave Elsa’s door, her world suddenly felt so much more…alone than ever before. At least Anna could go to the Lundbergs, where she would no doubt seek consolation, but Elsa had no one.
And perhaps, she feared, she wholly deserved to be isolated and completely forgotten.
Even by her own little sister.
