A woman wiped her hands and, wincing from the ache in her back, shuffled to answer the door. The bell had chimed softly, yet insistently, for the third time. Shed been polishing the windowpanes and hadnt reached the hallway straight away. On the doorstep stood a slight girl, pretty but wan, with shadows beneath her eyes.
Margaret, they told me you might have a room to let?
Goodness, these neighboursalways sending folk my way! I dont let rooms, never have.
But I heard youve three bedrooms.
So what if I have? Must I rent them out? Im accustomed to my own company.
Oh, Im sorry. They said you were kind, and I thought
The girl blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill, then turned to descend the steps, shoulders quivering.
Come back, duck! Ive not refused you yet! Young ones these days, so quick to weep. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? Shall we be informal?
Lily.
Lily, eh? Bet your fathers a schoolmaster or something, hmm?
Ive no father. Raised in a childrens home. No mother either. Kind souls found me on a church step and took me to the constabulary. I wasnt even a month old.
Right, no need for sorrow. Lets have tea and a chat. Hungry?
No, I bought myself a scone.
A scone, she says! Oh, youthnever minding yourselves, and by thirty youve ulcers. Sit, theres hot pea soup. Well brew some tea. Ive jars of jam. My husband passed five years back, but I still stock for two out of habit. Eat first, then you can help me with the windows.
Margaret, might I do something else? Im dizzyafraid Ill topple off the sill. Im expecting.
Even better! Just what I neededa girl in the family way. Ive my principles. Did you land in this state?
Must you assume the worst? Im wed. James is from the same home. But hes been called up. Came on leave recently. My landlady found out and gave me notice. Ive a week to find lodgings. We lived close by. Butwell, you see.
Aye circumstances So whats to be done with you? Shift my bed to the spare room? Fine, take mine. And no rentdont argue, or Ill be cross. Fetch your things.
Wont take long. All mine and Jamess bits are in a holdall by the block. The weeks up, and Ive been trudging about since dawn.
So they became two. Lily studied dressmaking. Margaret had been on disability since a rail crash years prior, so she stayed home, knitting lace doilies, collars, and booties to sell at the village market. Her work was like gossamerdelicate, barely thereand sold well. Money wasnt scarce, especially with garden produce. Saturdays, they gardened together. Sundays, Margaret went to chapel while Lily stayed, rereading Jamess letters and replying. Lily rarely attendedstill unaccustomed. She complained of aching back and spinning head.
One Saturday at the allotment, Lily tired quickly, and Aunt Margaret sent her in to rest with old records theyd once bought. After raking, the expectant mother lay down. Margaret fed dry stalks to the fire, watching flames when Lily shrieked, Mum! Mum, come quick! Heart pounding, forgetting her knees and back, Margaret bolted inside. Lily clutched her belly, weeping. In a flurry, Margaret pressed a neighbour into service, and they sped to hospital in a rattling Morris. Lily moaned, Mum, it hurts! Too soonIm due mid-July. Mum, pray for me, you know how! Tears streaked Margarets cheeks as she whispered prayers through them.
From admissions, Lily was wheeled away while the neighbour drove a weeping Margaret home. She prayed all night, begging the Virgin to guard the babe. Come morning, she rang the hospital.
Your daughters well. Asked for you and James, cried, then slept. Doctor says the dangers passed, but shell stay a fortnight. Haemoglobins low. Feed her up when shes home.
When Lily returned, they talked past midnight. Lily spoke of James.
Hes not just any orphan. We grew up together. Friends from school, then sweethearts. He cherishes me. More than love. See how he writes? Want his photo? Heresecond from right, grinning.
Handsome Margaret lied. Her spectacles were long past due for changing. The snapshot was tinyjust shapes in uniforms. Lily, whyd you call me mum in the garden?
Oh, fear made it slip. Habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Nearly broke it. Mostly. Comes out when Im scaredeveryones mum then. Sorry.
I see Margaret sighed, faintly dashed.
Aunt Margaret, tell me of yourself. Why no photos of your husband or children? Youve none, yes?
No children. A son, but he died a babe. After my injury, no more. My husband was my child. I doted on him. My whole world, like James is yours. When I buried him, I put away the pictures. Even knowing hes with God, it ached too much. Photos brought tears. So I hid them. Now he needs prayers, not weeping. But ask James for a proper photowell frame it. Ive frames somewhere.
On Christmas Eve, they decked the halls, speaking of the Christ child, watching for the first star. Lily fidgeted, rubbing her back.
Youre half-listening, pet. Whats amiss?
Aunt Margaret, ring for an ambulance. Its time.
What? A week early!
Miscalculated. Hurry, I cant bear it.
The ambulance reached hospital in half an hour. On Christmas Day, Lily bore a beautiful girl. That same day, Margaret sent the young father a joyous telegram.
January was a whirl. The babe brought delight but demanded much. With Jamess blessing, Lily named her daughter Maggie. Margaret wept. Little Maggie brought joy and sleepless nightshappy troubles. Margarets aches even seemed lighter.
The day was unseasonably mild. Margaret seized it for errands. Returning, she spied Lily with the pramout for air.
Well walk longer, all right, Aunt Margaret?
Aye, off you go. Ill start lunch.
Inside, Margaret spotted a framed photo on the table. She chuckled. Found it, did she? Picked his youngest pictureyouth loathe old ones.
The soup simmered when Lily brought Maggie back. A neighbours boy hauled the pram. They unwrapped the sleeping babe, tiptoeing into the parlour.
Lily, Margaret smiled, howd you know where to find Henrys photos?
I dont follow.
This, here? Margaret pointed.
This? You asked James for a proper photo. He went to a studio. I found a frame on the shelf.
Trembling, Margaret lifted it. Now she sawnot Henry. A young sergeant smirked at the camera. She sank onto the settee, pallid, gaze distant. Lily wept wildly, waving smelling salts.
Mum, look at me! Whats wrong, mum?
Lily, open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring the photos.
Lily fetched albums and frames. One held James?!
Heavens! Whos this? James? No, its old. Who is it, mum?
Henry, my husband. Lily, love, where was James born?
Dunno. Brought to our home from Manchester. After a train crash. Told his parents died.
Oh, cruel error! My Michael, they showed me I knew the shirtlike yours. But his face My boy, Michael! You live! Your wife and child are here, and I knew not. Oh Lord, you sent Lily. Pass the photo.
Bewildered, Lily handed it over. Margaret kissed it, tears raining. Michael, my darling, my sunshine!
James, Lily murmured.
Call him James, but this is my son, Lilymy boy! See his fathers picturethe likeness!
Doubts lingered.
Lily, a birthmark? Star-shaped, above the right elbow? All I had after the crashage and shirt. His arm was hurtno mark. Why so quiet? Is there one?
There is. A star. Oh mum, dearest, there is!
They clung, weeping, deaf to little Maggies cries for attention next door.
