A young woman named Emily Whitaker lay in the hospital. First, she had her appendix removed, then something went wrongthere was a bit of inflammation, complications followed, so they kept her in. Not that she had anywhere to rush off to. She was on sick leave, after all, so work could wait. Back in the textile factorys dormitory where she lived, her roommate Lucy would be only too glad to have the place to herself, free to entertain her sweetheart, Peter, till dawn without interruption.
Emily had no beau of her own. She wasnt radiant like golden-haired Lucyquiet and shy, even for twenty-six. Life just hadnt fallen into place. Soon Lucy would marry, and theyd assign someone else to share the room. Housing was scarce at the factory; they never built enough, but workers kept coming.
Emily pondered all this, gazing at the blue sky outside and glancing at her elderly ward-mate, Edith Thompson. Edith slept most of the time, but when awake, they chatted idly, sharing stories. Emily confessed how alone she wasparents gone, her older brother having drunk away the family home before landing in prison for theft.
“Just me now, Auntie Edith,” Emily murmured mournfully.
“No husband, then?” Edith studied her. “Never?”
“Never. Like I said, all alone. Only friend Ive got is getting married soon. What about you? Any family?”
“Oh, plenty!” Edith replied proudly. “No blood kin, but my lads are always round. Fix things, paint, tidy upwhatevers needed.”
What followed left Emily puzzled. Edith lived in an old house on the citys edge, inherited from her parents. Her husband had died years ago, and theyd never had children. But aching for little ones, shed taken in the neighbourhood boys.
“Id bake scones or potato pasties, call them in. Theyd come running, five or six of them crowded round the table, devouring everything. Their parents worked long shifts at the factory nearby, so they were left to themselves.”
“Your husband didnt mind?”
“Oh, he grumbled. But the boys hauled water, stacked firewoodsaved him the heavy work. So he put up with it.”
“Where are they now? All grown up? Do they still visit?”
“Course they do!” Edith beamed. “Some bring their own little ones. Others come alone. Same scones waiting for them. Theyve visited me here, you know.”
Emily vaguely recalled a few visitors but hadnt paid them much mind.
“I havent long left, dear,” Edith sighed suddenly. “But theres two lads stillTommy and Billy. Not exactly homeless, but close. Ones with his mum, the other his dad. Both parents work double shifts, never a break. The boys fend for themselves.”
“You feed them?” Emily asked, surprised.
“More than that. They do homework here, help out. Otherwise, the streets wouldve swallowed them whole. Breaks my heart.”
Two days later, visitors arrivedtwo boys around ten, Tommy and Billy, trailed by their parents: a sturdy, limping man and a woman worn thin from work and sleepless nights. Emily, now able to walk, slipped out to give them privacy.
When she returned, Edith was asleep, a basket of fruit, biscuits, and a bottle of custard on the bedside table.
Emily watched the sleeping woman, baffledwhere had she found the strength all these years to care for others children? Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boy, Danny the scamp, whose parents drank so heavily he sometimes slept roughuntil Edith took him in.
His father had stormed over once, shouting that she was spoiling the boy, forbidding her to “tame” him.
“What could I do?” Edith had said. “He still sneaks over, eats, helps out. Once he fixed a shelf that fell, swept the floor when my back gave out. That day, I barely fed him. He said he didnt come for foodjust to help.”
Shed paused, then added, “Boys feel more than some grown-ups. Not greedy, not hard. Just lonely, left alone all day.”
Emily was nearly ready for discharge, but Edith stopped rising at all, fretting over her boys. Then another visitor camea smart, handsome man with a leather briefcase. Emily tried to leave, but Edith stopped her.
“Emily, this is my William. Watched him grow up. Meet properly.”
Emily murmured a greeting and fled. William was handsome. She, pale and gaunt from illness, felt like a ghostlimp hair, hospital gown hanging off her like a sack.
He stayed long. Emily pretended to read but caught his glances, flushing each time. As he left, William hugged Edith, then paused by Emilys bed.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Get well. Ill come again.”
Gone before she could reply. He returned the next day, leaving juice on her table. Edith slept through his visit, and he left with tears wiped hastily away, asking Emily to pass on his regards.
Edith woke at dusk, refusing supper. Emily held her hand.
“Listen close, dear,” she whispered. “Williams a solicitor. Last time, I drew up the deedthe house is yours now. Took your ID from the drawer, forgive me. Its no palace, but better than a dorm. One condition: dont abandon the boys.”
Emily froze.
“Promise me, love. Just three leftTommy, Billy, Danny. They need watching, or the streetsll take them, like your brother. Promise?”
Emily broke down. “I wont leave them, Auntie Edith. Ill look after them. Juststay a little longer.”
But Edith was already asleep, a faint smile on her weary face.
William collected Emily after discharge, two days after Ediths passing. They buried her together with her friends. Then came the legalitiesWilliam helped. Soon, Emily moved into the house, this unexpected gift.
But the boys didnt come. William visited often, though, and at her request, brought them one evening. After that, they became regulars. But how to keep her promise while working all day?
Still, they spent evenings together, especially in autumns damp chill. She brought pancakes from the canteensometimes cheese, sometimes meat. They ate hungrily, watched telly, played Monopoly, then scampered home, buzzing with joy.
William dropped by sometimes, having helped Emily arrange the house tax in instalmentsmodest sums. Her gratitude warmed into something deeper, though he didnt yet return it, remaining a steadfast friend.
Oddly, Dannys father came toonot to shout, as he had at Edith, but to thank her. “Just dont spoil him,” he warned, stern but not unkind.
Now, this was her life. A home of her own, new faces. Lucy married her Peter; they visited once, bringing a friend, but Emily barely noticed. Her heart was elsewhereunrequited, but hopeful.
And everywhere in the warm house, Ediths presence lingered. Emily longed to be even a little like her, guarding the memory of that good, simple woman.
For Edith had left more than a houseshed passed on kindness, and now Emily ached to share it too.
