Young woman Lily Whitmore lay in the hospital. First, shed had an appendectomy, then something went wronga small infection, complications. So they kept her in. Not that she had anywhere to rush off to. She was on sick leave, naturally, so work could wait. Back in the textile factorys dormitory where she lived, her roommate Lucy would be thrilled to have the place to herself a while longer, her sweetheart Peter free to visit undisturbed until dawn.
Lily herself had no suitor. She wasnt radiant like fair-haired Lucyquiet, timid, almost too much so for twenty-six. Life hadnt quite come together. Lucy would marry soon, and then theyd assign Lily another roommate. Housing was scarce at the factory; they never built more, yet workers kept coming.
All these thoughts drifted through Lilys mind as she gazed at the blue sky outside and glanced at her elderly wardmate, Edith Thompson. Edith mostly slept, but when awake, they shared slow, meandering conversations, trading stories. Lily spoke of being aloneparents gone, her older brother drinking away their family home, now serving time for theft.
“Just me left, Aunt Edith,” Lily murmured mournfully.
“No husband, then?” Edith asked, studying 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 relatives, but my lads are always nearby. Need a thing fixed, painted, donetheyre there.”
What followed left Lily mildly bewildered. Edith lived in a modest house on the citys edge, inherited from her parents. Her husband had died long ago, and theyd had no children. But yearning for little ones, shed taken in the neighbourhood boys.
“Id bake pancakes or potato pies, call them all in. Theyd come running, five or six crowding the table, wolfing it down. Their parents work all hours at the factory nearbyleft to their own devices, they were.”
“Your husband didnt mind?”
“Oh, he grumbled. But the boys fetched water, stacked firewoodlightened his load. So he put up with it.”
“Where are they now? Grown up, I suppose? Do they still visit?”
“Visit? Of course!” Edith declared. “Bring their own kids now. Some still come alone. And what joy it is! Always pancakes ready. Theyve been here, visiting me in hospital.”
Lily vaguely recalled visitorsshed been too wrapped up in herself to notice.
“I havent long, love,” Edith confessed suddenly. “Theres two lads leftTommy and Billy. Not quite orphans. One with his mum, the other his dad. Parents working double shifts, no time. Boys fend for themselves.”
“You feed them?” Lily asked, surprised.
“More than that. They do homework here, help around. Otherwise, the streets wouldve claimed them. Breaks my heart.”
Two days later, visitors arrivedtwo boys around ten, Tommy and Billy, followed by their parents: a sturdy, slightly limping man and a woman worn thin from work and sleepless nights. Lily, now mobile, slipped out to give them privacy.
Returning later, she found Edith asleep, a bag of fruit, biscuits, and a bottle of yoghurt on the bedside table. Lily studied the old woman, wondering where shed found the strength all these years to feed others children. Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boyDanny the scamp. His parents drank so heavily he sometimes slept rough. Edith took him in.
His father once stormed over, shouting she was spoiling the boy, forbidding her to “tame” him.
“What could I do?” Edith had sighed. “Hed still comeeat, help. Fixed a shelf once 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 men. Not greedy, not hard. Just alone.”
Lily was nearly discharged; Edith scarcely rose now, fretting over the boys. Then another visitor camea smartly dressed man with a leather briefcase. Lily moved to leave, but Edith stopped her.
“Lily, this is my Edward, grown up before my eyes. Meet him.”
Lily murmured a greeting and fled. Edward was handsomeshe, pale and gaunt after illness, felt like a scarecrow in her hospital gown.
He stayed long. Lily pretended to read, sensing his glances. When he left, Edward hugged Edith, then paused by Lilys bed.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Get well. Ill return.”
He did, two days later, leaving juice by her bed. Edith slept, medicated. He left quietly, brushing away tears.
That evening, Edith refused dinner. Lily held her hand.
“Listen carefully, love,” she whispered. “Edwards a solicitor. Last visit, I drew up the deedfor you. Took your passport from the drawer; forgive me. Live in my house. Its no palace, but its yours. Just promisedont abandon the boys.”
Lily froze.
“Three leftTommy, Billy, Danny. They need watching. Promise?”
Lily wept. “I wont leave them. But you must stay too.”
Edith only smiled in sleep.
Edward collected Lily after dischargetwo days after Ediths passing, which shed spent weeping. He waited, solemn, at the hospital doors. They buried Edith together with her friends.
Then came the legalities. Edward helped. Soon, Lily moved into the miraculously gifted house.
But the boys didnt come. Edward visited often, though. She asked him to bring them. One evening, he did.
From then on, they were regulars. How to keep her promise while working full days? Yet evenings they spent togetherrainy autumn nights especially. She brought pancakes from the canteencheese-filled, meat-stuffed. They ate hungrily, watched telly, played Monopoly, then dashed home, bright-eyed. All lived close by.
Sometimes Edward visited. Hed helped arrange the houses modest tax instalments. Lilys gratitude warmed into something tender. He didnt reciprocate yetjust stayed a friend.
Oddly, Dannys father came not to scold, as he had with Edith, but to thank her.
“Just dont spoil him,” he said sternly, but not unkindly.
So began her new lifeher own home, new faces. Lucy married her Peter; they visited once with a friend. Lily felt nothing for the stranger. Her heart was quietly, hopelessly, elsewhere.
And everywhere in the warm house, Ediths presence lingered. Lily ached to be even a little like her. She cherished the memorythis kind, ordinary woman whod left not just a house, but a legacy of kindness Lily now longed to pass on.
