《Upon the Midnight Hour》 Chapter 1. Homecoming Could I really do it? Could I do what had to be done? There was no doubt in my mind¡­ The child was a cherub... An Angel¡­ Spawned from the pits of hell. When I first met the child ¨C I was no more than a child myself. Though the passage of time blurs many things, those days are as clear to me as this morning''s breakfast. The Great War was over, and England was beginning to recover. Picking up the pieces with a stiff upper lip and rebuilding as it were. Father had been a first lieutenant in His Majesty''s Army. The Calvary unit, if I remember correctly. What that meant, I never did find out. I was a child with a child''s concerns of the world, and the world was far away from the little farm I grew up on. Father had returned from the war, and I can still remember the day Mother and I arrived at the train station to meet him. I was dressed in my best frock, and my mother''s red lipstick stood out starkly against her pale face. I remember how her brown eyes shone, and she clutched her handbag nervously, white gloves hiding whitened knuckles. She held my hand too hard as we stood with the other families, watching the train move closer to the station. The porters dashed to and fro with frantic energy preparing for the train''s arrival. Her dark brown hair shone under her hat, perfectly done and not a hair out of place. The only indication of her fear and nervous excitement was the tiniest line of sweat marring her beautiful upper lip. We were lucky; we knew. Unlike other families in the village who had no one returning. Sons, fathers, brothers. All lost to the war. We were supposed to be lucky. When the train finally pulled to a stop in front of us, I remember nervously dancing from one foot to the other in white stockinged feet and my best Sunday shoes. Patent black leather shone gleaming in the grey morning light. The train was so much louder than I expected. The stack smoking with the burning of the engines sending acrid fumes wafting over us, the whistle far too loud for my small ears, the clanging of the tracks, and the men hanging out the windows waving and cheering their arrival. The train stopped with a deafening hiss, and the doors began to swing open. The first of the soldiers began to disembark. The crowds rushed to meet them. Happy families all around us raced to throw their arms around their men. It was glorious. It was terrifying. Would he remember me? Mother gave a small gasp. I looked up at her; what little color remained in her cheeks drained away. She let go of my hand amidst the crowds and ran forward, pushing through the throngs, desperately moving forward. I tried to follow but lost her when a porter with a heavy trunk on a dolly came between us. Looking up, all I could see were tan and grey coats, my only view being slacks and dresses, boots, and Sunday best shoes. I moved forward between them, pushing and calling out to my mother, utterly unheard through the clamor of so many people.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. My heart squeezed, and fear gripped me. I was lost. My chin began to tremble. The overwhelming noises and jostling of the crowds on the track pushed me this way and that. I was lost in a stampede, and Mother was gone. Searching desperately through the crowd, I grabbed every coat, peering up into strange faces, heart-pounding and desperately searching with arms held high to keep from being driven down. A large man knocked me to the ground, and I began to cry, curled up into a ball as the feet moved mercilessly around me. Large hands gripped me, and I screamed as they pulled me from the throng. "There''s my little girl." I heard behind me. I turned around in terror to kick my abductor as hard as my little legs could in the shins. He dodged and quickly knelt so I could see his face. "Hey, Hey, Hey- None of that, little Bean. It''s me." I turned my tear-streaked face towards the sound of the voice and sobbed; his tan face and brown eyes were as familiar to me as my own. "Father," I sobbed. I threw my arms around his neck and cried. My savior, my protector, my father was home. That was, oh, I guess... Two or three years before he truly died. Father had suffered in the war. He had taken a bullet to the leg and had shrapnel in his arm. He was lucky but had laid for days in the mud waiting for someone to find him. They tell me that he was lucky, that the infections hadn''t taken him, but I knew better. My Father had died out there. What came back to us was something else. It looked like him, sounded like him, even smelled like him, but it wasn''t him. That was not my Father. My mother could see it too. I remember watching her brown eyes, forehead creased and worried as he sat in his chair staring out the window. Wrapped in blankets against a cold that only he could feel. We cared for and tended to him. He sometimes disappeared for days, lost over the moors, eyes staring vacantly out the window, his body present, yet he was somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. He would help with the farm on the good days, tending the flock of sheep we kept and working the fields. The herd was severely decimated, most of our animals had been requisitioned for the war, and we were left with only what would breed. Before the war, we had hundreds of sheep; their grey wooly backs dotted the hills as far as we could see. It paid for the upkeep of the farm and what we couldn''t grow ourselves. We were lucky. Many had to go without during those days, but we had what we could grow, and Mrs. Hudgins was the finest gardener around. She could grow anything, and I hardly noticed when we went without. The blessings of childhood, I suppose. He would sit in the parlor on bad days, staring and staring, starting at the slightest noise and screaming at Mother for being too loud and me for walking too loudly or humming incessantly. I learned to tread lightly and hum soundlessly, terrified of the rage that would engulf him. Mother tried to protect me as much as she could, sending me outside to tend the garden with Mrs. Hudgins or to my room, where I would read whatever books I could get my hands on, working on my school primer to catch up on the education lost to the war. Then the cough and the fever came. At first, it would come and go, better most days than not, but as the days grew cold and damp, it would come on full force, and he would be in his bed for days, wasting away as the fevers ravaged him. There was no physical ailment that we could discern. Doctors explained that the stresses of war caused an incurable infection. He would scream and call out in the nights, gripped by the terrors, yelling at the phantoms only he could see. The doctors said it was an infection in his wounds, that the shrapnel buried in his body was festering and causing lung rot. He wasn''t responding to the medications, and we should prepare ourselves. ?? "I''m sorry, Mrs. Franklin. Do you need a break?" Sandra''s worried dark eyes peered at me across the room as she paused her recorder. Chapter 2. Virginia If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Chapter 3. Home 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 ¨C 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.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°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 R?ntgen 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 ¨C 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.¡± Chapter 4. The Last Perfect Day
Chapter 4. The Last Perfect Day- Part 2
delightfully scattered throughout
"Mummy I''m Home!" Evie called cheerily
"Well. Get in here and eat! You don''t have much time before afternoon lessons!" Her mother called back to her.
"Come on, lets go." Katie said as she unwound her scarf and hung it by the door.
was brought fresh out of the ovens to sit on the sideboard
"Hello Missus Hudgins, Is Mister H home yet from the fields? And is Father Home?" Evie said, giving Missus Hudgens a side hug before scrambling to the kitchen table.
"Your father went out with Mister Hudgens to collect the flock to the barn early this morn. They should be back soon." Missus Hudgins replied in her warm, grandmotherlywas surprisedMister H usually did all of the work with the sheep since Father had come back from the war poorly and could not be counted on to share in the workTheir two families had shared in the work from time beyond time, and there had never been a time that they both did not live on this farm
The Hudgins had only been blessed
"How were lessons girls?" Mother asked the girls, sitting down with them to enjoy her meal as well. It was simple farmer''s fare, but Mother was an excellent cook, and everything she touched was made delicious simply by being in her presence
I think you do a much better job here at home," Evie said sweetly, her voice dripping with honey while batting her eyes
"Och, Child," Mother laughed, "You''ll be the death of me. How do you expect me to get all of
"But Mummy, its justexasperatedly
"Missus Hale," Katie interjected, "Can Evie be letstudiously
"Ahh, this wouldn''t happen to be about ice-skating around the pond now, would it?" She looked suspiciously
"But mother, we''ll be careful. We''ll check the ice justbeen taught
"Johnnie Milford, is it? Well, in that case, don''t let your father see you leave with the skates. They''re in the loft of the barn." Mothers'' eyes twinkled. She was well aware of her daughter''s affection for the boy, even if they only saw him at church on Sundays. If the way she blushed and twirled her hair around her finger was any indication, it was only made sure by the fact she would stare dreamily at his family''s pew and pretend to be looking at something else as soon as she was caught
As prospects went, Johnnie would be a good one. A solid education and the area''s biggest dairy farm, which provided half the area''s milk production, would go a long way to securing her a good lifeMothers couldn''t start too young when matchmaking, and Evie''s mother was no exception, regardless if she was contented to be a farmer''s wife or not
Luncheon finished up, and the girls rushed out of their house to the barn to obtainbe letEvie''s breath caught in her throat as she caught a glimpse of Johnnie Milford standing with his friends and laughing
"What do I do? Shallbreathlesslypointedly
"I think
"He''s seen me?" Evie asked, voice rising in a near panic.
"He''s seen you! He''s coming this way! Pretend not to care!" Katie made a face giggling.
"Shhh! Stop it! He''ll know we''re talking about him!" Evie said in a panicked half-whisper, unable to help herself giggling hysterically
wildly from their cords over her armwildly
"Hey Yourself, Johnnie Milford," Katie said, an odd sparkle in her eye. "Care for a kiss," She said daringlyI think
"Katie, how dare you! That is completely unacceptable!" Evie gasped out, face colouring ridiculously
"Oh, don''t be a prude, it''s all in good fun." She made a face at Evie, winked at Johnnie and flounced off to talk with the other girls.
Evie and Johnnie were left awkwardlyawkwardly
"Oh, your mother did?" She asked sharplyShe felt tears prickle in the corner of her eyes, and she was glad for the bracing cold air keeping them from spilling
"Ah, yes," he said quicklyI might
"I have permission from Da to accompany you girls... ah, ladies to the pond after lessons." He smiled, "As long as you''ll still have me."
Evie''s face lit up into a smile. "Yes, of course. You''re welcome to come walk with us."
"Great! I''ll tell Ma that you''re well of course, and I''ll see if Frank and James want to come as well. I''m sure they''ll be happy to come." He said in a rush, face flushed with pleasure.
The bell rang, and they both looked up towards the chapel. Sister May was standing there, face wrought with disapproval at the fraternization occurring in the yard
"We''d better be off then," he said as she started to move to the door. "I''ll see you after lessons." She nodded to him, and he skipped off towards the boys lining up to go in. Looking around, she caught Katie''s eyes across the yard, an expectant look that said she''d better spill absolutely everything about their conversation or there''d be hell to pay
just so sweet that they''d lose that sweetness in the telling, and she would keep that sweetness to herself, buried in her chest where no one could take it awayjust Chapter 4. Part 3 The Last Perfect Day Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ::Warning:: If you wanted a nice story about a young woman who had a great day, then stop now. If you wanted to hear something pleasant, where all is right in the world, read no further. If however, you want to hear about a nightmare....Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. A never-ending nightmare that twists right and wrong, turns up from down and makes the insane sound sane... Continue forward. I am in no way condoning this action. This is a story of darkness. Of one girls brush with insanity and the marks left upon her. If you are of a twisted mind and a twisted nature; then read on. But you do so with my warning.