Young woman Lucy Prescott lay in the hospital. First, shed had surgery for appendicitis, then something went wronga bit of inflammation, complications, and so they kept her in. Not like she had anywhere to rush off to. She was on sick leave, after all, so work could wait. Meanwhile, back at the textile factory dormitory where she lived, her roommate Lily would be over the moon to have the place to herself a while longer, free to host her beloved Peter into the wee hours without interruption.
Lucy herself had no sweetheart. She wasnt a stunner like fair-haired Lilyjust quiet, unassuming, almost too much so for a woman of twenty-six. Life hadnt quite fallen into place. Lily would marry soon, and then theyd shove someone else into Lucys space. Housing was tight at the factory; no new buildings went up, but workers kept coming.
All this ran through Lucys mind as she stared at the blue sky outside the window and glanced at her elderly wardmate, Edith Thompson. The old woman slept most of the time, but when awake, theyd share slow, meandering conversations, trading stories.
Lucy told her how shed wound up alone. Parents gone, elder brother drinking away what little theyd had, pawning the family home, now serving time for theft.
“Just me left, Aunt Edith,” Lucy sighed.
“No husband, then?” Edith eyed her closely. “Never?”
“Never. Like I saidjust me. One friend, and shes marrying soon. What about you? Family?”
“Oh, plenty!” Edith beamed. “No blood kin, but my boys are always round. Fix things, paint, tidy up.”
And then she spun a tale that left Lucy bewildered.
Turns out, Edith lived in a house on the citys edge. Her own place, old, passed down from her parents. Husband long dead, no children of their own. But for the love of kids shed never had, shed taken in the neighborhood lads.
“Id bake flapjacks or potato pasties, call em in. Theyd come tearing over, five or six of em round the table, wolfing it down. Parents working all hours at the factory nearby, so the boys run wild otherwise.”
“Your husband didnt mind?”
“Oh, he grumbled. But theyd haul water, stack firewoodtook the heavy work off his shoulders. So he put up with it.”
“Where are those boys now? Grown up, I suppose? Do they still visit?”
“Course they do!” Edith chuckled. “Bring their own kids now. The older ones still pop by. Keeps me cheerful. Always got flapjacks ready. Theyve been here, you knowvisited me in hospital.”
Lucy dimly recalled visitors once or twice, but shed been too wrapped up in herself to notice.
“I havent got long, love,” Edith murmured suddenly. “But theres two ladsTommy and Billy. Not quite homeless, but near enough. One with his mum, the other his dad, both working double shifts at the factory. Boys left to their own devices.”
“And you feed them?”
“More than that. They do schoolwork here, help out. Otherwise, the streets wouldve swallowed em whole. Breaks my heart.”
Two days later, visitors arrivedtwo scruffy ten-year-olds, Tom and Bill, trailed by weary parents: a limping, burly man and a woman hollow-eyed from work and lack of sleep. Lucy, now mobile, slipped out to give them privacy.
Returning later, she found Edith asleep, a bag of fruit, biscuits, and a bottle of custard on the bedside table.
Staring at the frail figure, Lucy wondered where the woman had found the strength to feed a pack of stray kids all these years. Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boyDanny the scamp, whose parents drank so hard he sometimes slept rough till Edith took him in. His father would storm over, shouting that she was spoiling the lad, making him soft.
“What could I do?” Edith had sighed. “Hed turn up, eat, help round the house. Once 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 whispered, “Boys feel things deeper than most grown men. Not greedy, not hard. Just lone as lone can be.”
Lucy was nearly ready for discharge when Edith stopped rising altogether, fretting over her boys. Then a visitor camea smart, trim young man with a leather briefcase. Lucy made to leave, but Edith stopped her.
“Lucy, this is my William, grown up before my eyes. Meet him proper.”
Lucy mumbled hello, gave her name, and fled. Handsome, that William. And her? Pale, gaunt after illness. Plain at the best of times, now all stick limbs, unkempt hair, hospital gown hanging off her like a sack.
He stayed long. When Lucy returned, book in hand, she caught him glancing her way now and then, flushing each time. Leaving, William hugged Edith, then paused by Lucys bed.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Get wellIll visit again.”
Gone before she could reply. He returned the next day, left juice by her bed. Edith, drugged asleep, couldnt talk. He left teary-eyed, asking Lucy to pass on his love and sweets.
Edith woke by evening, refusing supper. Lucy held her hand.
“Listen close, love,” she murmured. “Williams a solicitor. Last visit, I had him draw up the house papers for you. Took your ID from the drawerforgive me. Its no palace, but better than that dorm. One condition: dont abandon my boys.”
Lucy froze.
“Only three leftTommy, Billy, Danny. They need watching, or the streetsll take em like your brother. Promise?”
Lucy broke down.
“I wont leave them, Aunt Edith. Ill look after them. Juststay a while longer.”
But Edith was already asleep, a faint smile on her worn face.
William collected Lucy when she was dischargedtwo days after bidding farewell to that kind, extraordinary woman, weeping the day through after her passing. He waited glumly by the entrance. She felt no joy either, despite freedom at last.
With all Ediths friends, they buried her. Then came the legalitiesWilliam helped. Soon, Lucy moved into the house, this improbable gift.
But the boys didnt come. William visited often, though, and at her request, brought them all one evening.
From then on, they were regularsthough how to keep her promise while working full days? Still, evenings they spent together, especially damp autumn ones, unwelcome beyond the walls. She brought factory canteen pancakessometimes cheese-filled, sometimes meat. They ate hungrily, watched telly, played Monopoly, then scampered home, bright-eyed and buzzing. All lived close by.
William dropped in sometimes. Hed helped arrange the house tax instalmentsmodest, thankfully. Her gratitude for his aid quietly warmed into something tender.
He didnt reciprocate yetjust stayed a friend. Oddly, Dannys father came not to shout, as he had at Edith, but to thank her for minding his son.
“Just dont spoil him,” he warned, stern but not unkind.
***
So this was her new life. A home of her own, different faces round her. Lily married her Peter; they visited once, bringing his friend. Lucy barely noticed the strangerher heart was elsewhere. Unrequited, but hope flickered on.
And she remembered Edith. Every corner of this warm house spoke of her.
How Lucy longed to be even a little like her. So she kept the womans memory brightthis good, simple soul whod left not just a house, but a legacy of kindness Lucy now yearned to pass on.
