A man wiped his hands dry and, wincing from the ache in his back, shuffled to answer the door. The bell had chimed softly, but this was the third ring. Hed been polishing the windows and hadnt made it to the hallway straight away. Outside stood a young girl, pretty but pale, with weary eyes.
“Henry, they reckon you might have a room to let?”
“Blimey, these neighboursalways sending folks my way! I dont let rooms, never have.”
“But I heard youve got three.”
“So what? Why on earth should I rent them out? I like my peace and quiet.”
“Right, sorry. They said you were kind, so I thought”
The girl blinked hard, tears welling, then turned slowly down the steps, shoulders shaking.
“Hold on, love! Didnt say no, did I? Young ones these days, always so quick to cry. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? First-name terms alright?”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy, eh? Bet your dads a teacher or something, yeah?”
“Never had a dad. Grew up in a childrens home. No mum either. Kind folks found me on a doorstep and took me to the police. Wasnt even a month old.”
“Right, dont fret. Lets have a cuppa. Hungry?”
“No, I grabbed a pasty earlier.”
“A pasty, she says! Youngsters, never looking after yourselvesnext thing you know, ulcers by thirty. Sit down, theres hot pea soup. Ill put the kettle on. Got plenty of jam. My wife passed five years back, but I still stock up out of habit. Eat first, then you can help me with the windows.”
“Henry, could I do something else? Feeling dizzydont fancy climbing, not in my condition.”
“Bloody hellexpecting, are you? Just what I needed. Got principles, I have. Did he leave you in the lurch?”
“Why assume the worst? Im married. Jacks from the same home. Got called up for service. Came home on leave not long ago. Landlady found out and booted me out. Got a week to find somewhere. We lived close by. But wellhere we are.”
“Ah. Here we are, indeed. What am I to do with you? Suppose I could shift my bed to the spare room. Fine, take mine. And dont you dare offer rentIll be cross. Go fetch your things.”
“Wont take long. All mine and Jacks stuffs in a bag by the block. Weeks up, been dragging about since morning.”
So they became two. Lucy was training as a seamstress. Henry had been on disability since a bad rail crash years back, so he stayed home, knitting lace doilies and baby mittens to sell at the market. His work was delicate as sea foam, light as air, and sold well. Money wasnt tight, especially with veg from the garden. Saturdays, they worked outside. Sundays, Henry went to church while Lucy stayed home, rereading Jacks letters and replying. She rarely wentwasnt used to it. Complained of backache and dizzy spells.
One Saturday, Lucy tired quickly, and Henry sent her in to rest with old records theyd picked up together. After raking, the expectant mother lay down. Henry was burning dry branches, lost in the flames, when Lucy shrieked, “Dad! Dad, come quick!” Heart pounding, forgetting his bad knees and aching back, he bolted inside. Lucy clutched her stomach, crying out. Rushing, he got a neighbour to drive them to hospital in his old Rover. Lucy groaned, “Dad, it hurts! Too soonnot due till mid-July. Dad, pray for me, you know how!” Tears streamed down Henrys face as he muttered prayers.
From admissions, Lucy was wheeled away. The neighbour drove a shaken Henry home. He prayed all night, begging the Lord to keep the baby safe. Come morning, he rang the hospital.
“Your girls fine. Asked for you and Jack, cried a bit, then settled. Doctor says no more risk, but shell stay a fortnight. Haemoglobins low. Feed her up when shes back.”
When Lucy returned, they talked late. She spoke of Jack.
“Hes not just any orphan like me. Weve been in the same home since forever. School friends, then fell in love. Hes everything to me. See how often he writes? Want to see his photo? Heresecond from the right, grinning.”
“Handsome” Henry didnt want to upset her. His glasses were old, and the tiny image showed just outlines. “Lucy, whyd you call me dad earlier?”
“Ohjust slipped out, scared. Habit from the home. Everyone there was mum or dad. Mostly broke it. Only comes out when Im nervous. Sorry.”
“I see.” Henry sighed, a bit disappointed.
“Uncle Henry, tell me about you. Why no photos of your wife or kids? You didnt have any, right?”
“Had a son. Passed as a baby. After the crash, no more. My wife was my world. Doted on her like you do Jack. Once she was gone, I put the photos away. Too painful. Hid them to spare myself the grief. Now, she needs prayers, not tears. But ask Jack for a bigger photoIve frames somewhere.”
Christmas Eve, they decorated, waiting for the first star. Lucy shifted, rubbing her back.
“Youre not listening. Whats wrong?”
“Uncle Henry, call an ambulance. Its time.”
“What? Youre early!”
“Mustve got the dates wrong. Hurry, cant bear it.”
By Christmas morning, Lucy had a beautiful girl. Henry sent Jack a telegram that same day.
January was hectic. The baby brought joy but kept them busy. With Jacks blessing, Lucy named her Harriet. Henry wept. Little Harriet meant sleepless nights but happy ones. His aches even seemed lighter.
One unusually warm winter day, Henry ran errands. Returning, he saw Lucy with the pramout for air.
“Well walk a bit longer, alright?”
“Course. Ill start lunch.”
Inside, he spotted a framed photo on the table. He chuckled. “Found it, did she? Picked the youngest oneyoung folks never like the old ones.”
Soup simmered when Lucy returned, the neighbours lad helping with the pram. They unwrapped the sleeping baby, tiptoeing into the parlour.
“Lucy,” Henry smiled, “howd you know where to find Margarets pictures?”
“Dont know what you mean.”
“This, here?” He pointed.
“That? You asked for a bigger photo of Jack. He had it done at a studio. Found the frame on the shelf.”
Hands trembling, Henry picked it up. It wasnt his wife. A young corporal grinned cheekily. He sat pale, staring. Lucy sobbed, clutching smelling salts.
“Dad, look at me! Whats wrong?”
“Lucy, open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring the photos.”
She fetched albums and frames. One showed Jack?
“Bloody hell! Whos this? Jack? Nothis is old. Who is it, Dad?”
“Margaret, my wife. Lucy, where was Jack born?”
“Dunno. He came to our home from Manchester. Train crash orphaned him.”
“Oh Godwhat a mess! They showed me my boy, Johnrecognised his shirt like yours, but his face John, youre alive! Your wife and daughter are here, and I didnt know. Lucy, pass me that photo.”
Bewildered, Lucy handed it over. Henry kissed it, tears falling. “John, my boy, my sunshine!”
“Jack,” Lucy whispered.
“Call him Jack, but this is my son, Lucymy boy! Look at his mothers picturespitting image!”
Lucy still doubted.
“Lucy, what about his birthmark? Star-shaped, above the right elbow? Only clue I had after the crashage and shirt matched. Arm was too damaged to check. Why so quiet? Is there one?”
“There is. A star. Oh Dad, there is!”
They clung together, weeping, barely hearing little Harriets fussing from the next room.
