“How did that happen?”
As quickly as she could, Abigail explained. She could not completely stem her tears when she spoke of the fate of her parents, but quickly wiped away the few that escaped. She was going to have to find the time and the privacy to give way to her grief. When she finished her tale, the other woman looked close to weeping herself.
“There is so much of that. All the women here are widows or daughters left behind. More widows than the others. There are a few children here as well. We were in another place in town for a while but it became too small to hold us so they moved us here. This used to be the headquarters of the major but, despite what I assume was annoyance”—Julia briefly grinned—“he moved. Mrs. Beaton was at first pleased to get her house back.”
“How do I, well, settle in?”
“Mrs. Beaton did not say?”
“No, she just told me to come in here and sit down. The men took my chests up the stairs.”
“Ah, well, you can share my room as the woman who used to has moved on. She got news that her husband was not dead as reported, just badly wounded, and she has gone to him.” She leaned closer to Abigail and spoke softly. “He lost a leg and demanded that he be listed as dead. It was a friend of his who finally came looking for his wife. He thought it was foolish of his friend to try and turn away the one who might well be the best help for him, so she left with the man. She sent back a short letter when she found her husband and said they were headed back to Ohio.”
“I hope all goes well for her and her husband.”
“As do I, but it has left a bed free in my room.”
“Thank you. Matthew told me little when he left me here. He just mumbled something about this being the Woman’s House and walked away.” Abigail decided Julia had a nice laugh, clear and sweet, almost childlike.
“Come, I will introduce you to everyone and show you where you will sleep.”
Abigail followed her as Julia led her over to each woman in the room and politely introduced her. Most of the women were friendly, but one could almost feel their sadness. It was the same with the children that they met once they made their way up the stairs. There was a fear clinging to each one.
“The children looked so lost,” Abigail said as Julia finally showed her into the room they would share.
The room was larger than Abigail had expected and easily held the two small beds with a table between them. A thick carpet covered the floor and a big fireplace sat on the wall opposite the bed. There were two small chairs flanking a fancy round table in front of the windows at the side of the room. One look at this room was enough to tell Abigail Mrs. Beaton was, or had been, a very wealthy woman. It would be the richest room she had ever slept in. Then Julia spoke and drew her mind back to the children.
“Sad, I know,” Julia said. “We have no orphanages in town for them. The town was small enough that any child orphaned was easily taken in by a local family or relatives but these children are not from around here and the people still here have enough to fret about without taking in another mouth to feed. This is the best we have. There are only four of them so I think the major is hoping we’ll deal with them. We do, but not as it probably should be. Most of the women are still too caught up in their own losses to deal with a child.”
“That does not help the children feel secure at all.”
“True enough but, truly, there are no orphanages near to take them in.”
“The women, sad or not, could do something.”
Julia shook her head. “None show the inclination. It is too dangerous to travel about looking for a suitable place to put them. I sometimes think Mrs. Beaton is a bit taken with the little girl so she might take that one but the others are boys and it has been clear that she finds boys, well, alarming. And who knows if Mrs. Beaton has any plans to leave while the whole country appears to be trying to kill each other.”
Abigail also shook her head. “And no one knows how long it will last, I suspect.”
“Robert thinks it has to end soon. He can’t see how the dead and maimed can keep piling up. He said there will be nothing left of the country soon.”
“That is a morbid thought. And who is Robert?”
“My beau,” Julia said quietly and blushed. “Are you always called Abigail or do you have a shorter name, a pet name?”
Realizing Julia did not want to talk about Robert, Abigail nodded. “My father always called me Abbie.”
“Abbie. That is nice. Less formal. It nears time for our evening meal so we had best get downstairs. Mrs. Beaton gets irritated if we are not on time for it.”
Abigail followed Julia down the stairs and into the kitchen. There was one long table with benches on each side and a chair at each end. In the far corner of the kitchen, a table with four stools around it. She frowned a little. It did not seem right to keep the children separate. Then she recalled how they had been tucked up in a room upstairs with beds and just a few toys while a teenage girl sat in a corner reading a book and ignoring them. It was no wonder they had seemed so lost to her.
She sighed and asked the woman cooking if she needed any help. The woman looked startled but then carefully suggested Abigail might ready the carrots for the stew she was cooking as she was running a little late. That struck Abigail as odd but she just smiled and began to deal with the carrots. Having a conversation was difficult but Abigail kept trying and the woman began to slowly relax. The woman said her name was Mabel Stone and she was the cook and housekeeper. Then Mrs. Beaton walked in to begin setting the table and Mabel went stiff and quiet again. Abigail kept glancing at Mabel but it was clear their very brief comradery was over
Suddenly Mabel leaned closer and very softly said, “Help in the morning is never refused.” She then quietly slipped out of the kitchen.
“Table is set,” said Mrs. Beaton. “I will ring for the others.”
“Doesn’t Mabel eat with us?”
