Legacy of Love. Christine Johnson

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      Chapter Five

      Anna never took the train to Belvidere. Ma insisted they decorate the apartment for Christmas instead. Since her mother could barely walk, that left the work to Anna. She gathered pinecones and evergreen boughs, while Ma strung corn she’d popped over the fire. Branches of money plant added pearly white disks to the display. She stuck cloves into apples and hung them from old ribbons. Considering the decorations cost so little, Anna thought it looked pretty good.

      “It’s not as nice as home, though,” she mused.

      Ma looked up from her needlework. “This is home now.”

      “Are you sure no one will mind that I cut off some pine branches?” No one of course referred to Brandon, on whose property they’d gathered the boughs and cones and dried flowers.

      “Mr. Brandon gave his permission. He even unlocked the garage doors so you could get a saw.”

      No matter how many times Ma reassured her, Anna still felt like a thief. They might live here, but only as guests.

      Just walking into the garage portion of the carriage house had felt like an invasion of his privacy. As a child she’d often wondered what lay inside the thick stone walls. How disappointing to discover it contained the same things as every other outbuilding. In former days carriages must have been parked where he now kept his automobile. Along one wall stood a tool bench with dozens of old tools hanging from nails that had been pounded into a board attached to the plastered stone wall.

      The plaster had been a surprise. It was to be expected in the apartment, but why would anyone plaster a garage? Yet someone in the past had done just that. Judging by the dingy film of dirt, dust and cobwebs, the plastering had been done years ago.

      Anna had found a rusty old handsaw that managed to cut through thick boughs after jerking the teeth back and forth against the wood.

      “I’m sorry I couldn’t cut a tree for us,” she apologized again to her mother.

      “We don’t need a big old tree in this little room. We’d never be able to walk around it. If you ask me, the branches are perfect. Smell the pine.”

      Anna inhaled deeply. The warmth of the fireplace had released the piney scent from the needles.

      “It’s wonderful,” Ma said from her perch before the fireplace, her head back and eyes closed. “That smell always makes me think of Christmas.” She chuckled, eyes still shut. “Remember when your father cut down that ten-foot-tall tree? He insisted on stuffing the thing into the living room. We had needles everywhere. I was still finding them in August.”

      “That must have been before I was born.”

      “I’m sure you were there, but maybe you were too little to remember.” Ma sighed. “Such good memories.”

      Anna hoped her mother didn’t get misty-eyed. “We’ll start new memories.”

      “Yes, we will. And keep some of the old. That reminds me. I promised we’d bring plum duff for dinner tomorrow.”

      “Plum duff?” Anna couldn’t hide her surprise. She loved the traditional steamed Christmas pudding, but Ma spent days preparing it. “There’s not enough time. The fruit has to be ripened.”

      Ma waved a hand. “Mariah mixed the fruit and nuts with the suet a week ago. She dropped it off this afternoon.”

      Anna looked around and saw nothing.

      “I had her take it to the kitchen. You’ll have plenty of time to mix the ingredients and steam it.”

      “Me?” Anna tried not to panic. “You want me to make it?”

      “It’s not that difficult. I wrote down the recipe. It’s on the table.”

      Anna glanced over to see that indeed Ma had jotted down her recipe. But knowing which ingredients to use wouldn’t ensure it turned out. Ma always said plum duff was temperamental.

      “It’s Saturday afternoon,” she pleaded, “and Brandon probably doesn’t have the ingredients.”

      Ma smiled sleepily. “I had him call in an order this morning. The mercantile should have delivered everything by now.”

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