The Sun and Moon and Stars

Chapter II

Frances slipped the handles of her carpetbag up to her elbow and picked up the baby. The girl's face had fallen at the disappearance of her family and her lips twitched with silent sobs. Frances glanced back at the barn. Her trunk was still in the back of the wagon. Hopefully Mr. Fellowes would notice and bring it in. 

Bouncing the baby--Rebecca, she assumed--on her hip, Frances gently rubbed her back until the baby's whimpering stopped and she laid her round cheek on Frances' shoulder. She walked into the house, and waited a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she immediately frowned. 

The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and every inch of counter top was used up by pots and pans that still had residue caked to the bottom. The thick wooden table was clean but a loaf of bread and an assortment of vegetables covered it. She dropped her carpetbag near the door and walked around the table. Four milk cans were pushed against the wall. Only one was full, but the smell of fresh milk was still strong. 

"At least your father is feeding you, which is more than I can say for some fathers in the same situation," Frances said to Rebecca. The baby blew a bubble and Frances wiped the spittle with the baby's dress. It was about time the baby was changed anyway.

The kitchen opened up on the right to the parlor, and although it was a better in terms of cleanliness, the smell was overpowering. Frances nearly gagged. Something must have died within the walls or under the floor. Rebecca did not seem fazed by the stench. It must have been here for a while. Frances was careful where she put her feet after that. 

A fireplace filled with cold ashes was built into the outdoor wall and a well-used canape covered in rips and stains faced it. A table sat in between, etched with scratches and scrapes. A small collection of glass bottles stood in the middle. Frances bent down and smelled them, fearing the worst. One smelled of milk, another of soda. The rest had no scent.

Art and photographs hung on the walls and the mantle held little knick knacks. The curtains that hung down on either side of the northern window were ragged and ripped. Among it all, the putrid smell permeated every corner. Despite the better state of the parlor, Frances preferred the kitchen, with its warm milky aroma. 

At the back of the room was a steep staircase, pushed up against the centre wall.

Frances placed a hand on the railing and climbed it, the heel of her boots tapping against the wood and echoing through the empty house. One of the first steps had a great hole in the middle of it, the boards ripped as if someone's leg had fallen through. 

The second floor seemed much better. The hall turned left at the top of the staircase and continued to a window. The shutters were closed but an outline of sun shone through at the edges. Frances strode down the hall and with only one free hand managed to unlock and push open the window. The afternoon sun threw hazy rays into the hall and Frances turned around to inspect the damage. She let herself smile. There was barely any. Other than footprints of dirt and a few stains on the walls, the hall was in good condition. Even the side table was free of dust and the mirror newly wiped. 

Already, Frances was feeling a bit better about the task. The first floor had been atrocious, but hopefully the bedrooms would be much better. 

The first door she opened was at the right of the window. She poked her head in. The parent's bedchamber. It was cold like a museum and smelled of ointment and lavender. The curtains were drawn and a thin layer of dust blanketed the dresser. The rest of the room was well-kept, with golden wallpaper and a flowered quilt. The blanket gently moved up and down. Mrs. Fellowes was sleeping. Frances quickly shut the door.. 

The second bedroom was the one across from Mrs. Fellowes, the only one along that side of the hall. It was a guest room that was obviously in use. Mr. Fellowes', Frances assumed. The bed was unmade and dirty boots stood at attention beside the door. The window was open though and kept the room warm and cozy. Warm ashes sat in the fireplace. Frances moved on. It wasn't appropriate to be in a man's bed chamber.