painting by Antos Frolka – Auf dem Weg zur Kirche (On the way to Church)

Henry dutifully took a bite of food closing his eyes as he savored it slowly.

Hanna sat down next to him, whipping her cloth napkin with a snap before laying it gently over her lap. They ate in silence but for the sound of utensils pinging on china. It was music to her ears. She paused for a moment to glance at Henry, smiling as she looked down at his empty plate, satisfied that he had eaten every last morsel. Unconsciously she sighed relieving days of tension that had mounted inside her.

“Excuse me. Did you say something Hannah?”

“No. It’s just been a long day.”

“A long day and night! …Hannah?”

The tone in Henry’s voice startled Hannah. She raised the napkin to her lips dabbing them  daintily before looking up. He was staring intensely at her when their eyes met. “Yes?” she whispered.

Henry reached across the table cupping her hand under his. “I want to thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me tonight…for preparing this delicious dinner…for…”

“Of course. It is my job. I am happy to be of service.”

“You interrupted me, Hannah…”

“I’m sorry. I’m always saying the wrong….”

Henry placed his fingers gently over her lips, “Shhhh, please let me finish. Most of all I want to thank you for helping me, for letting me…oh I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Maybe it was the fire that jolted me, that made me feel something for the first time in years.” Henry closed his eyes breathing deeply to regain focus. “No. I’m not being honest. It wasn’t the fire Hannah. It was you.” Henry slid his fingers upward from her lips, caressing her cheek, then brushing the damp hair from her forehead.

“Oh…I can’t help feeling…I know we’ve never met before this week, but I feel as though I know you. It’s as if we’ve known each other for a very long time. Is that strange?”

“No Hannah, it’s not strange. I feel it too.” Henry reached for her hand again. “But it’s late. We’re both exhausted. We should get some sleep.” He lifted her hand brushing it tenderly with his lips. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Good night.”

“Goodnight…” Hannah watched him depart to his chambers. All she could think about was tomorrow. She cleared the table and set about cleaning the dishes.  As exhausted as she was, she pushed herself to finish the task. It gave her time to sort through the questions swirling in her head.”How do I know this man? Have we met?” As impossible as it was, Hannah could not make sense of what she was feeling; of what she knew in her heart. Finally, she headed back to her room, pealed off her ruined tea dress, and slipped between the sheets, settling her weary head into the soft embrace of her pillow.

Two restless souls stared at the ceiling from their beds that night; souls that cursed the night and longed for the dawn.

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Another installment of Seasoning. Inspired in part by the painting above by Antos Frolka retitled by Jane Dougherty for the prompt as “a satisfied couple”. I am afraid that my characters this week are anything but, each one stirred by strange memories of a distant past. Though if we’re to play devil’s advocate here, perhaps it is the memory of the satisfied couple that they once were in another lifetime that has them so befuddled! Read other installments of Seasoning HERE . 

“What Freedom!” a painting by Ilya Repin

Only seconds passed, but it seemed like an eternity. The thunder rumbled to a soft hum until only the ticking from a clock in the parlor filled the silence.

“Hannah…are you alright?”

“Yes sir. Startled is all. I’ll get some candles from the kitchen.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait Hannah. We have a problem.”

Hannah looked up. Henry’s face and the wall behind him glowed red; his eyes were wide with horror. Hannah spun around to see the trees in the front yard consumed by a raging fire.

“Oh dear God, what shall we do?”

“Hannah, I need you to call the Fire House, then meet me outside with every bed quilt you can carry.”

Hannah rushed to the phone, picked up the receiver and gave the handle a crank. “I’m not getting the operator!” she yelled to Henry as he headed toward the front door.

He paused in the doorway, turning to look at her, “Try once more Hannah. If you still can’t get anyone, just meet me out front with the blankets.”

“Alright.” Hannah gave the phone another crank. Nothing. She glanced outside and saw Henry beating back the flames with his overcoat. Hannah rushed down the hallway grabbing two quilts, and was headed for a third when she heard Henry scream her name.

“Hannah! Hurry!”

She tossed the quilts on her shoulders and ran to the front yard. “I’m here Henry. What should I do?”

“Take a quilt and beat any fire you see on the ground until it’s out Hannah! That’s our only hope if we are going to keep it from overtaking the house!”

By now the Gordons, had joined the effort. Mr. Gordon had buckets for water and Margery brought a broom to beat the flames into submission. In all, three old trees were engulfed. The tops of the trees were out of reach so everyone focused on the sparks and flaming branches that fell to the ground. It was dangerous and frightening. Their eyes and noses burned from the smoke. Occasionally a spark would land on their clothing leaving a singed hole as it dissolved to ash. After thirty minutes the fire brigade pulled up to the curb.

“We heard from the neighbors that lightening hit your trees Henry. We’re here to help.” In no time they pumped enough water to the tops of the trees to douse the flames.

While the fire crew packed their gear, Henry and Hannah stood with the Gordons in front of the house. Hannah didn’t even care that she was sopping wet and smudged with soot, though it was not how she had envisioned meeting the neighbors for the first time.

“Thank God you were here.” Henry gushed, “I don’t know what we would have done without your help.” He noticed Margery Gordon smiling at Hannah. “Forgive me, I don’t believe you have met Hannah. She is my new housekeeper.”

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you my dear,” Margery clucked, “Helen had nothing but wonderful things to say about you and your family. We must do tea some afternoon so you can tell me all about the Waverly Estate. Such a grand place it is. I’ve admired it since I was girl.”

“I look forward to that Mrs. Gordon.”

“Margery, you call me Margery, Hannah. I just know you and I are going to be fast friends.”

“Now, now Margery, let’s be getting home. I’m sure these folks are tired out from all this excitement. I know I am,” interrupted Margery’s husband, Joseph. He knew once she started talking, it would be impossible to get her to leave.

“Yes dear, of course you’re right,” she said, “we’ll have plenty of time to catch up, won’t we Hannah! Have a lovely evening, what is left of it, you two. Hannah, I will see you soon!”

The Gordons shuffled toward their house leaving Henry and Hannah alone in the front yard.

“Well, now you’ve met the neighbors,” Henry smiled, brushing a leaf from Hannah’s hair. His eyes met hers and his face softened.

Hannah couldn’t look away. What was she feeling? Who was this Henry? Hannah was swept up in a whirlwind of emotions when Henry stepped closer leaning toward her ear.

“So…Miss…Hannah is it?” he grinned, “Tell me, where were we when lightning struck.”

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This is the twelfth installment in a continuing series that is inspired by Jane Dougherty’s Weekly Microfiction Challenge prompts. I was inspired by this week’s painting, an exhilarating piece by Ilya Repin, more from the emotions that it evokes rather than a literal illustration for the story. If you would like to read the previous chapters, click HERE and scroll down to the story called Seasoning.

With the parlor, dining room and entrance way thoroughly dusted and swept, Hannah ventured down the hallway to the bedchambers.

There were three rooms. The first was decorated in beautiful soft shades of lavender and green. A princess canopy perched over the head of a white cast iron bed was draped in delicate lace that cascaded down each side. Across the room there was a vanity with an oval mirror and a matching tufted stool. From the turned down bed sheets, Hannah guessed that Helen had likely spent her nights here. She put the bed back together and dusted the furniture before pausing to glance at an array of framed photographs on the walls.

“I wonder who these people could be.” Hannah thought. There were several family portraits. She had no trouble picking Helen out. Even as a young girl, Helen had that same round face, wild, curly hair and infectious grin. There were always four children in the family groupings. Helen, who appeared to be the oldest, another girl, a few years younger, more petite in frame with straight dark hair, a boy with curly dark hair, a year or so behind her and then there was the youngest, who looked to be several years their junior. His brooding demeanor was in stark contrast to the other’s happy smiles and his jet black straight hair, dark eyes and pale complexion left no doubt in Hannah’s mind that this sour youngster was none other than Mr. Chambers.

Painting by Harald Slott-Moller

“Oh my! What a sad little fellow you were…and, I hate to say it, still are! We will just have to see about that.” Hannah’s father often called her his little ray of sunshine; always barefoot with flowers in her hair. She was never content around anyone who seemed unhappy, making it her personal mission to cheer them. True to form she mused, “You, Mr. Chambers, might be my greatest challenge yet!”

Hannah moved swiftly through the next room, or the “Red Room” as she decided to call it. It was decidedly more masculine in its furnishings with a tall wardrobe on one wall and an assuming full canopy bed, set in the far corner, adorned in soft red velvet.

Finally, she entered the master room. Its walls were painted a cool teal; the ceiling, doors and window frames ornately set in gold leaf. The centerpiece of the room was the bed, draped in a full, four post, canopy arrayed in valances and panels of cobalt blue silk.  Despite the room’s elegance, it was clearly in need of tidying. Soiled clothes covered the floor and seating. Hannah gathered the garments to launder and opened the drapes to let the afternoon sun in while she put the rest of the room in order.

As she prepared dinner, Hannah thought about the photographs, and about Alice, speaking to her out loud as if she were in the room. “I wonder how you were able to get Mr. Chambers to smile, Alice. I am assuming of course, that you did, because I am certain that no woman would even think of marrying such a petulant man as I have witnessed these last few days. At least I would like to think there is another side to him. And I believe it’s totally understandable that he is likely heartbroken to have lost you!  Oh Alice, you can be sure that I will take good care of your Henry. Don’t you worry.”

Mr. Chambers would be returning home soon. Hannah decided to freshen up before dinner, starting with brushing the dust and cobwebs from her hair. She applied a hint of rouge to her cheeks and lips and pulled her hair up into a soft swirl tying it in place with ribbon. Finally, she selected a modest tea dress to wear. “It’s going to be a lovely evening,” she told herself.

The front door opened just as Hannah returned to the kitchen. She glanced through the doorway to see Henry’s back as he took off his coat. For the first time Hannah noticed his tall frame and broad sturdy shoulders. “If he wasn’t scowling all the time, some people might even find him quite attractive,” she thought. When he turned around, Hannah, who had lapsed into a mindless stare startled, and then quickly regained her composure.

“Oh! Good evening Mr. Chambers.” Hannah’s face flushed red. “I hope you had a good day. I’ve prepared dinner.”

Henry looked at her and shook his head with his usual grim expression. “You’re still here I see. Well, at least I won’t have to deal with my sister this evening! But Miss…Hannah is it?”

“Yes sir, it’s Hannah.”

“Well, Hannah, I thought I made it clear that there would be no cooking for me in this house. As I said, I take my meals out.”

“Sir, I have strict instructions from your sister …”

“She is an infuriating, old bag of meddlesome trouble. That’s Helen. I would prefer, Hannah, now that she has gone back to where she belongs,” Henry let out an exasperated sigh, “I would prefer that you take your direction from me. I can see that you could be useful to me here. I don’t have time to keep this house in order. And Helen mentioned you were a gardener. I would very much like someone to take the time to revive that eyesore into something, anything green.”

“I am happy to help in any way that is useful. And yes, my father taught me gardening. Have you had dinner yet?” Hannah wasn’t going to let him rush out like the night before. “You might as well have a seat and let me serve you dinner here. By the looks of it,” Hannah glanced out the window, “we are in for a bit of a storm tonight.”

“I think you’re right. About the storm.”  Henry walked into the dining room. “Now don’t think for a moment that I’m going to make a habit of this. However, I am not in the mood to get caught in a downpour.” He sat down. “I only see one plate. You are going to join me, aren’t you?”

“No sir!” Hannah blurted. “I mean, I assumed I would have dinner in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense! I detest eating alone. Why do you think I eat at the pub?”

Much to her surprise, Hannah noticed the corner of Henry’s mouth curving upward ever so slightly and his eyebrow lifting. “A smile! Could it truly be, or am I imagining it?” she wondered to herself.

“Well I don’t like eating alone either,” Hannah responded, “I certainly do understand Mr. Chambers. I’ll have dinner served in just a minute.”

Hannah began to think that she may have misjudged Henry Chambers; that he might not be as surly and unsociable as he seemed. She quickly arranged roasted vegetables and beef and a loaf of bread saucer of butter onto a large serving tray, grabbing a plate and extra set of silver for herself.

Meanwhile in the dining room as Henry waited, he thought about the last time he had sat like this, warm aromas wafting from kitchen, his beloved wife chattering happily as she served him dinner. A dark cloud of melancholy overtook him as the storm outside began to worsen.

By the time Hannah returned he was pushing himself away from the table.

“Please sir, just have a bite or two. It saddens me to see you suffering so.”

Henry fumed, “What makes you think I am suffering? You probably don’t know the first thing about suffering, Miss! This was a bad idea. A very bad idea!”

Hannah set the tray on the table and slumped into the nearest chair. She would not beg him. What a fool she had been to think that this evening would be any different from the night before.

The steaming food on the platter caught Henry’s attention, “Maybe I will have a bite.”

Hannah looked up, smiled and began dinner service when a monstrous bolt of lightning ripped through one of the trees in front of the house. The lights flickered for a second, before going completely black. As thunder shook the house, neither of them moved, sitting there silently in the dark.

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Part 11 in a continuing series prompted initially by Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge. While I still try to incorporate the wonderful artwork that Jane presents to us each week, this story has taken on a life of its own and I am rarely able to limit the word count. I hope you don’t mind. I will continue to link it here because many of you are following along. If you’d like to read other chapters, I have assembled them HERE. Thank you Jane for the inspiration and encouragement to keep this little story alive. I’m sure I’m doing this all backwards, but I am loving the ride! 🙂