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.”
