The kitchen of Hale House was always warm and smelled gloriously of baking bread. The heat and delicious smells washed over Evie as she tramped down stairs for breakfast from the cold, upper portion of the house. The day was cold and misty with a nip of snow on the wind. Today was the first day back to school since it had been shut down. That was when there was thought that the war might reach them. The sounds of her patent leather shoes sounded on the hollow wooden steps preceding her as she came to the bottom and rounded the door into the kitchen.
She breathed the amazing smell of family, bread and happiness. She would never again take fresh bread for granted, it was not too long ago that it was so rare as to be extinct.
“Evangeline Michael Hale! You WILL respect this household and watch the heaviness of your foot on the stair!” Mother said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“But Mummy, its these new shoes! They’re so stiff and clunky! And they pinch my toes!” she pouted as she came to the basin to wash her hands before eating. Mother was very strict on handwashing. “I don’t see why I need school; you’ve done a perfectly good job keeping up my education.”
After drying her hands on the towel kept near the sink for such things, she smoothed back her hair. Taking the ribbons from her pocket, she used the mirror over the washbasin to tie in her hair so that they might hang in the most attractive way. She might fuss about going back to school, but the truth was; there were boys there. Boys she might talk to and whom might talk to her. And if she were lucky, she might find a nice young man to settle down with so that she might never have to leave the most wonderful village in the world. Some might think she were a little young to worry about such things but she would be a woman any day now, she was sure of it.
“Darling, keep your voice down, you’ll wake your father.” She glanced at the parlor door where just beyond you could see Father slumped on his green plush chair. The bottle of spirits rested on the floor beside him – his arm was lying listlessly over the arm of the chair as though he had fallen asleep reaching for the bottle of sin. Mother closed the door to the parlor to avoid waking the stubble-faced man.
The sight made Evie’s stomach twist up and her heart ache but she didn’t know why. There was just something wrong with him. In the years he’d been home and the war had been over it became worse and worse. He was quiet and disconnected most days and jovial and loving on others. When he could not sleep or the dreams woke him, he would leave her mothers bed and would be found the next morning in such a state. The coughing fits became worse when the weather turned and it had made him almost frail looking. He no longer resembled the big strong father she once knew. Had he ever existed?
“Why is he not in bed then? Why should I have to watch my tone when it is He that should be in his bed where he belongs! It’s far past time to be up anyways, I’ve already finished all of my mornings chores and washed up for school. He should be pulling his weight as the man of the house.” She replied contrite.
“Shush, child. Your father had a bad night, and we’ll let him sleep a little longer until breakfast is ready,” Mother said in a in a careworn voice. It was the same argument every day, held in hushed voices and concerned tones. Such things simply were not spoken of.
“Mother I am not a child anymore, I’ll be a woman any day now!” She pouted.
“Not for a while yet I hope, and you're still my child.” Mother said as she bustled around the kitchen, pointedly ignoring Evie’s complaints. She sat a lidded clay pot and a towel covered plate on the worn, scarred table and moved to the stove, returning with a pot of tea, and a hot bowl of oats. She began slicing more pieces of bread for the toast and
“But why do I have to go to school?” She whined a little more, “Can I not stay to help Missus Hudgens in the garden? Or to help you with the laundry? There is so much to do before the lambs come!” she said as she began digging into her bland porridge. She hated porridge, but her mother was a strong believer in ones constitutional health and a bowl a day was imperative to that. There was no arguing with her.
"There will always be more to do, but a young lady’s education comes first in this house. I’ll see that you are well educated if it kills me. You will have a much better future than becoming a shepherd’s wife.” It was times like these that, when Mother spoke that way, that Evie wondered if her mother wasn’t quite happy in this life.
“What is wrong with being a shepherd’s wife? You are!” Evie could not understand what future it was she had to prepare for. She already helped with the chores around the farm and knew how to keep a good kitchen. The only reading she needed was for the books that were her companions on cold winter nights and the only maths would help her manage a household. She couldn’t imagine a better life than one where she was mistress of her own household.
“There is nothing wrong with it Darling, but there is just so much more to the world. You will understand when you’re older. Things don’t seem like it but theyre changing now. When the men went off to fight that nasty man, we women had to step up. The world is bigger for a woman now than it was in my day.” Mother pressed her lips together. She was still quite beautiful and her shape was still lovely since she had only ever had the one child. Evie wondered if she wanted something more than this, but Evie could not fathom any other way to live.
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“Is there still no sugar or honey?” She cast a resentful eye at the larder. Although the ration cards weren’t issued any longer, delicacies were still hard to come by. It had been a blessing when tea was finally available.
“You will eat your breakfast and like it, darling.” Mother said, kissing the top of Evie’s head to take the sting from her words before continuing back to the work table. She kneaded the dough for their lunch but always made a little extra to give to the neighbors. They had fallen on hard times, everyone had hard times nowadays, but their father hadn’t come home. Widow Downing was a young mother of three. Three hungry mouths and no father. They might have to sell the farm if they could not find any young men to work the fields. It was odd to think of a woman three and twenty as a widow, but she was not the only one. The war left scars everywhere. “And when you’ve done with that, there are beans in the pot. Fresh toast under the towel on the plate.” It seemed that beans and toast were all they ate during the war, and for quite some time, it was all there was, with not even a little pork to give them flavor.
A heavy step on the door preceded Mister Hudgins and his giant wooly coat, shaking the rain from the flap of his cap. “G’morn Miss,” he said, casting his coat on the hooks next to the door, positioned conveniently for tossing such things as coats. He was a grizzled old man who had worked with their family for as long as she could remember. “We’ve got an early start today with the lambing season begun. Five and twenty ewes ready to go, all of them.”
“Well, Mister Hudgens, I hope things go well,” she said, sliding another bowl of oats in front of him. He thanked her with a grunt and a nod before washing his hands in the basin. Sitting heavily down to eat, he tucked his head in and got to work. Mother was a stickler for cleanliness. Wash up to the elbows before eating, no argument. “The missus should be in soon. She’s just checkin’ her cold frames in the garden.”
Breakfast at Hale House was always a family affair. The Hales had owned the property back to the Mad King George, or so they said. And the Hudgins had stayed on for almost as long. Generations of Hales and Hudgins had eaten at this table in this very kitchen. Modernized only in the most important ways, it was a warm and happy family center. It was a safe place to go with a warm glass of milk waiting for anyone who needed it. The plastered walls showed cracks and age, but they were scrubbed spotless, and the ceiling was natural wood planks that held the floor for the bedrooms above. A Gas stove was the only modernization obtained just before the war.
Heat was still given by a giant, wood-burning, fat-bottomed stove in the corner, the smokestack going straight through the wall behind it. Split logs were always stacked beside it, giving the kitchen a pleasant, homey feeling that would never exist anywhere else. Evie was sure of it.
Mother took two clay mugs from the cabinet and placed them on the table for Mister and Missus Hudgins, who would be in shortly. They lived in the cottage on the side of the property but everyone always came together for breakfast as it was the most important meal of the day. Pouring the tea, Mother set the kettle down on a placer and turned to the kneading. It was already time to leave, but she allowed Evie to finish her breakfast. It was hard enough to focus at school without having to do it on an empty stomach, and lord knows they’ve had enough empty stomachs the last few years to last two lifetimes.
Stomping on the step to the garden, Missus Hudgins bustled in, setting her large, wide-brimmed hat on the hat rack and her basket of early veggies on the work table. “It’ll be a fine year, I think. We’ll have plenty to go around and then some to put away if we’re careful. Is the Mister still sleeping?”
“Yes, he’s in the parlor,” mother replied in a carefully neutral voice.
They exchanged an inscrutable glance before Missus Hudgins bustled past the elephant in the room without comment. We did not speak of these things; we did not acknowledge them. We carried on as though nothing was unusual about a war-torn man drinking himself into a stupor in the parlor every evening. Nor was staring off through the window into the misty moors all day when he couldn’t be bothered to move.
His leg was still stiff from the shrapnel they had pulled out, but according to the Röntgen imaging, they had gotten it all in surgery. In her young mind, he had no excuse to shut himself in the parlor day in and day out, and though she was concerned and wanted to ask why he did this, it was not to be spoken of.
“Well, little Miss, aren’t you late?” Mister Hudgins gruffly cast at her as the clock chimed.
“Fetch your primer and be off now. You don’t need to be late again.” Mother swatted her with a dishtowel. Evie Jumped from her table and took her coat from the hook. Grabbing her primer, she started for the door in a hurry. “Wait! Kiss your Mum now before you leave.” Evie veered off from the door she was about to run through to hurry back and kiss her mother on the cheek. “Alright, be off now, and I want full marks from your teacher! Don’t let me hear about you acting up again!”
“Aww, Mum!” Evie exasperatedly stamped her little stockinged feet in her new black school shoes and looked back at her mother.
“No – no argument, now go!” She swatted her with the dishtowel again as she ran through the door towards the house’s front door. Father opened the door to shuffle into the kitchen as she was running out, and he ruffled her hair as she passed by. As she ran to the front door, she could hear him asking if there were any coffee. Coffee?! Who drinks coffee?!! She shook her head at him as she wound her scarf around her neck against the cold. He had come back from the trenches with a peculiar taste for coffee that he had picked up from some Americans. It was disgusting stuff.
The scene back in the kitchen went on unbothered. There was no coffee as trade still hadn’t been fully restored. But next week, there would be a shipment, and they could pick some up in the market.
“The lambing will be starting soon. I’ll be cutting the ewes from the herd for the lambing barn today. We’ll have to bring them in from the moors.” Mister Hudgins said as he took another bite of toast and sipped his tea.
“I’ll help bring them in. Make sure none have wandered off.” Father said as he sat down to his breakfast. He took a sip of tea and grimaced. “Though I sure do wish there was coffee.”
Mister Hudgins’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but there was no other betrayal of expression. He hadn’t volunteered to work on more than a handful of occasions. Not to mention- What kind of Englishman drinks coffee? “Och,” he began in his burly growl, “Well, finish yer breakfast, and we’ll meet in the yard. I’m off to fetch the dogs to give ’em their breakfast and we’ll be off.”