Mrs. McLeod shooed her youngest daughters away from the stove.
“Be off with ya, Millie, and you too, Hannah!” she waved her cooking spoon at them good naturedly and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. The two girls skipped away, giggling and ducking to avoid their armed mother.
“Evenin’ Mary,” boomed their father, striding in from work.
“Donald! Mrs. McLeod waddled over to greet her husband, accidentally splashing butternut soup everywhere from the still dripping spoon she held in her hand. “How was the day, then?” she demanded, stepping back to scrutinize her husband.
“Well, if ya must know, I thought I’d stop in at Jack’s camp,” he began gruffly, easing into a wooden chair with a grunt. “Saw the young lad goin’ off for a jog with the other recruits. Sargent said ‘e could stop by and ‘ave a chat with his old pa. He ran over by the fence, then. Lookin’ fit as a fiddle, he is. Reckons he’ll be off ta war in just over a fortnight,” Donald finished proudly. “Wish I couldda gone, an’ spare him the trouble. Ain’t for these here eyes, Mary, an’ your boy would be back at home where he belongs.” A dreamy look took over the man’s eyes. He greeted his first three daughters and was just kissing the head of the fourth when there was a sharp knock on the door. “Expectin’ anyone, Mary?” he asked, looking puzzled. Mary shook her head and motioned to the door.
Go on then,” she hissed. Donald eased out of his chair and shuffled down the hall.
“ ‘oo is it?” he asked suspiciously, turning the handle of the door. The person huddled on the stoop looked vaguely familiar beneath it’s shawl. Donald was about to squint and peer closer, but then he stopped himself. Why bother? The only person he knew who would wear a winter shawl in the late summer and still manage to be cold was Louisa Dunningham. “Louisa?” he whispered in awe. “ ‘avent’ seen you around here for a while,” he added happily. Louisa replied by clearing her throat and tipping her head towards the inside of the house. “Oh, yes, forgive my manners, miss, please, do, come in!” Donald muttered, flustered.
“Thank you, Mr. McLeod,” Louisa said graciously, stepping past his bulk into the bright hallway. Mary McLeod’s head bobbed in the doorframe, straining to get a look at the visitor past her husband’s broad shoulders.
“Dat you, Louisa, dear?” she cried, pulling Louisa into a bone crunching hug. Louisa felt her muscles relax that she hadn’t even known were clenched. Laughing, she smiled at Mary while Mary examined her at shoulders length.
“Oh, hello, there, Millie! Hannah, Grace, Rosie, how are you all?” she queried, patting the heads of Jack’s four younger sisters. “I haven’t been around in weeks, and you all have grown so much!” she laughed again.
“I’m still four,” Millie giggled.
“Yes, Mill, it hasn’t been that long, silly,” sighed Louisa, scooping up the girl and moving into the kitchen.
“Cuppa?” Mary asked, brandishing a teapot.
“Yes, please, Mrs. McLeod.” Louisa gazed around the kitchen with it’s yellow cupboards and finger-paintings done by the littlest McLeod, who was now perched on her lap, bouncing. Louisa loved the relaxed atmosphere in Jack’s house. His family was so close, unlike hers. Even though Millie was four, Hannah, seven, Grace, ten, and Rosie, thirteen, and Jack, 16, they all got along together like bread and butter.
“So what brings you here?” demanded Mary, setting down a steaming mug of tea down before her. Louisa wrapped her hands around her tea.
“Thank you. I was hoping to see Jack, before he had to go to war.”
