Christine Johnson - Legacy of Love

Anna blinked. “Suffice for what?”

“For you. Both of you. You said your brother lives elsewhere.”

“As does Peter, my foster son,” said Ma. “They both live at Constance House.”

He nodded solemnly. “Good. It’s only large enough for two. One bedchamber, a small sitting room and a washroom. Would that be adequate?”

“More than adequate,” Ma bubbled. “We don’t need much space now that my boys are gone.”

Anna stared at her mother. Hadn’t she just claimed the opposite? “Where would we cook our meals?”

“You may use the kitchen in the house. It has a separate entrance.”

“Perfect.” Ma clapped her hands together. “We accept.”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

Anna shook her head, trying to grapple with what he was saying. “You’re offering to lease us your carriage house?”

“Just the apartment and it wouldn’t be a lease.”

Anna dropped her gaze. “We can’t afford to buy.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He shuffled slightly, placing his weight on the stronger leg. “It seems we each have a need. You need a place to live, and I need a housekeeper. If you are agreeable to the arrangement, I would like to offer you the use of the apartment in exchange for housekeeping services. Two or three times a week should be sufficient.”

Housekeeping? He wanted her to clean his house? When he’d taken her side against Sally, she’d thought he understood how demeaning it was to be a servant. Apparently not. He was just like the rest of the rich people who lived on the hill.

“You want me to clean your house?” Anna sputtered.

He flushed. “Certainly not. That would be highly inappropriate. I was hoping Mrs. Simmons would take the position. You should be able to fit it in around your other work.”

Ma wasted no time agreeing to the plan. “That would be wonderful. Oh, Mr. Brandon, how can we ever thank you? Of course we’ll take it. It’s perfect, isn’t it, Anna?”

Perfect? Living on Brandon Landers’s charity? Living in what must be servants’ quarters? It wasn’t perfect; it was humiliating.

“No, thank you,” Anna said stiffly. “We can’t accept. It’s quite out of the question.”

“But Anna,” Ma said.

She couldn’t stand to even look at the man. First he had forced Ma and her from their home, and now he wanted to make them his servants. How dare he?

Without a word more, she slammed the door in his face.

Ma gasped, but Anna couldn’t let her mother’s desire for a larger home put them into servitude.

“I’m sorry, Ma. But we can’t live there. It’s not right.”

“Why not? It’s the answer to my prayers.”

Anna cringed. Prayer had not brought Brandon Landers into their lives. He only cared about money. Any man with an ounce of compassion would not first evict them and then make them his servants.

She stormed into the kitchen. “I’m done discussing this, Ma. I will never live in Brandon Landers’s carriage house, and I certainly won’t have you cleaning his house.”

“But it’s a place to live at no cost.”

Anna saw the pain in Ma’s eyes, but she couldn’t subjugate herself, not even for Ma. “We’ll find something else.”

She angrily pulled pans from the cupboard. They all had to be sold. Moreover, the clatter overwhelmed Ma’s soft voice. After frequent attempts to speak, her mother gave up and left the room.

Fine. Let Ma stew about it. It wouldn’t change her mind. Yes, she did feel a bit guilty that she’d upset Ma. After all, she was supposed to honor her mother, but Ma couldn’t seriously expect her to accept charity from the man who’d evicted them. She pulled another pan from the cupboard.

The front door slammed shut.

“Ma?”

No answer.

Where was she going?

Anna set the pan on the table and walked to the front window where she spotted her mother hurrying down the sidewalk toward Brandon’s car. Judging by the way she was waving, she was about to accept the deal that Anna had just rejected. Brandon didn’t seem to notice her, for he got into his sleek black Cadillac.

That didn’t stop Ma. She ran out into the street.

Anna raced out onto the stoop. A light mist was freezing on the trees and bushes. She started to call out to her mother, but the words caught in her throat when she saw Brandon drive forward.

In horrible slowness, like individual frames in a film, Ma slipped and fell—directly in front of Brandon’s car.

* * *

Brandon didn’t see Mrs. Simmons until it was too late. He was still steaming over Anna’s blunt refusal. No one had ever slammed a door in his face, especially not when he’d just made a generous offer. He was trying to help them. Couldn’t she see that?

He’d stormed to the car, and, after several misfires, finally got it started. To be honest, he hadn’t even looked for traffic before inching forward. Then he pressed hard on the accelerator, anxious to leave this debacle behind.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. At first, it didn’t register. Then he realized Mrs. Simmons was waving at him. She stepped into the street, and her feet shot out from under her. Down she fell, directly in front of his car.

He swerved and applied the brake, but the road was icy, and the tires skidded.

Please, no. Not again.

Every detail of the war came back. The acrid smell, the dull thud of artillery in the distance, the sharp fear. He’d led his men into the shelled town as directed. Nothing lived there, not even grass. Mud had swallowed the streets. Artillery had demolished the buildings. It had looked like hell, felt like hell, and would surely be his hell for all eternity.

A slight movement to the right had caught his attention. He’d turned, expecting to see the commander he was supposed to meet. Instead, shells rained down. His men scattered. He yelled for them to retreat, but they either could not or would not hear. Helpless, he watched as one by one they fell.

Just like Mrs. Simmons.

* * *

Anna screamed, unable to move.

Her mother was going to die, just like Papa had died all those years ago. She’d watched him working on a truck from her hiding place in the pile of tires. Only his legs showed. He lay under a truck that was up on a jack, its wheels off on that side. He yelled for Mr. Thompson, but his fellow mechanic wasn’t there, and for a second Anna almost went to him. But she was supposed to be in school, and if she helped him, he’d know she’d skipped class, so she stayed in the tires.

He banged again, and the jack collapsed. The truck fell to the ground. Papa cried out. Once. Then silence. Just a pool of red running out from under the vehicle.

Not again.

The car’s brakes squealed. The wheels locked and the vehicle skidded. Closer and closer it came until Anna knew Ma would die.

She closed her eyes and turned away. She couldn’t watch. But then, just like when Papa died, she looked back. She had to look. She had to know.

This time, she didn’t see the pool of red blood. The car shuddered to a stop mere feet from Ma.

Thank God. Anna breathed out in relief. Then she noticed her mother wasn’t moving.

Brandon flung open his door and clambered out. He lost his balance and grabbed the car for support. Spotting Anna, he yelled, “Call for a doctor.”

A doctor? Anna’s heart stuck in her throat. Ma must be hurt. Or worse. Fear froze her to the stoop as Brandon inched forward on the icy road. She couldn’t move and couldn’t stop watching.

At last he reached Ma. While holding onto the car’s hood, he leaned over and extended a hand. When she reached up, Anna breathed again. Ma hadn’t died. She was just hurt.

Brandon took Ma’s hand and attempted to help her to her feet, but they both fell. At last, Anna found her legs.