A young woman named Emily Whitaker lay in the hospital. First, shed had an appendectomy, then something went wronga minor infection, complications. 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 thrilled to have the place to herself, free to entertain her sweetheart Peter all night without interruption.
Emily had no sweetheart of her own. She wasnt radiant like fair-haired Lucyjust quiet, withdrawn, too much so for a woman of twenty-six. Life had slipped past her somehow. Soon Lucy would marry, and theyd move someone else in. Housing was scarce at the factory; no new buildings, just more workers needed.
These thoughts drifted through Emilys mind as she gazed at the blue sky outside and glanced at her elderly wardmate, Dorothy Wilkins. Dorothy slept most of the time, but when awake, they shared slow, meandering conversations about their lives.
Emily confessed how alone she was. Parents gone, her older brother drinking away their inheritance, then landing in prison for theft. «Just me now, Aunt Dorothy,» she sighed.
«No husband, then?» Dorothy studied her. «Never?»
«Never. Like I saidalone. Just one friend, and shell be married soon. Do you have family?»
«Oh, yes!» Dorothy answered proudly. «No blood kin, but my boys are always nearby. If something needs fixing, painting, patching uptheyre there.»
The story Dorothy told left Emily puzzled.
She lived in an old house on the citys edge, left by her parents. Her husband had died long ago, and theyd never had children. But aching for the laughter of little ones, shed taken in the neighborhood lads.
«Id bake pancakes or potato pies, call them in. Theyd come running, six or seven of them, gobbling up every crumb. Their parents worked all hours at the factory nearby, and the boys were left to themselves.»
«Your husband didnt mind?»
«Oh, he grumbled. But theyd fetch water, stack firewoodsaved him the heavy work, so he put up with it.»
«Where are those boys now? All grown up? Do they still visit?»
«They do! Some bring their own children. Others come alone. Still eat my pancakes, just like before. Theyve been here, visiting me in hospital.»
Emily remembered a few visitors but had been too wrapped in her own misery to notice.
«I havent long left, dear,» Dorothy said suddenly. «But there are two boysTommy and Billy. Not quite orphans. One lives with his mum, the other with his dad. Both parents work double shifts, hardly see them. The lads fend for themselves.»
«You feed them?» Emily asked, surprised.
«More than that. They do homework here, help around the house. Without it, the streets wouldve swallowed them whole. Breaks my heart to think of it.»
Two days later, visitors arrivedtwo boys around ten, Tommy and Billy, followed by their parents: a sturdy, limping man and a woman worn thin by work and sleepless nights. Emily, now able to walk, slipped out to give them privacy.
When she returned, Dorothy was asleep. A bag of fruit, biscuits, and a bottle of custard sat on the nightstand.
Emily watched the sleeping woman, wondering how shed found the strength all these years to care for other peoples children. Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boyreckless Danny. His parents drank so much he sometimes slept outdoors until Dorothy took him in.
His father would storm over, shouting that she was ruining his son with kindness. «But what could I do?» Dorothy had said. «Hed turn up hungry, help with chores. Once he fixed a shelf that fell, swept the floorI could barely move that day. He said he didnt come for food, just to help.»
Dorothy had paused, then whispered, «Boys are kinder than most grown men. Not greedy, not cold. Just lonely, left to themselves.»
Emily was nearly ready for discharge, but Dorothy had stopped getting up, fretting over the boys. Then another visitor camea smartly dressed young man with a leather briefcase. Emily moved to leave, but Dorothy stopped her.
«This is my William, all grown up. Meet him properly.»
Emily introduced herself and hurried out. William was handsome. She, pale and gaunt after illness, felt like a ghost in her loose hospital gown, hair unkempt, legs like sticks.
He stayed long. When he left, he hugged Dorothy, then hesitated by Emilys bed. «Pleasure meeting you,» he said. «Get wellIll visit again.»
And he was gone before she could reply.
He returned the next day, leaving juice by her bed. Dorothy, drugged with painkillers, didnt wake. William left in tears, asking Emily to pass on his love.
By evening, Dorothy refused dinner. Emily held her hand.
«Listen close, dear,» she whispered. «Williams a solicitor. Last visit, I had him draw up the deedsfor you. I took your passport from the drawer; forgive me. Live in my house. Its no palace, but its yours. Just promise medont abandon the boys.»
Emily froze.
«Speak, love. Only three left nowTommy, Billy, and Danny. They need watching, so the streets dont take them like your brother. Promise?»
Emily wept. «I wont leave them, Dorothy. Ill look after them. Juststay a little longer.»
But Dorothy was already asleep, a faint smile on her tired face.
William collected Emily after dischargetwo days after Dorothys passing. He stood at the hospital doors, somber. She felt no joy, despite freedom.
They buried Dorothy together, then sorted the legal transfer. Soon, Emily moved into the househers by some miracle.
At first, the boys didnt come. But William visited, and at her request, brought them one evening. After that, they became regulars. How could she keep her promise while working all day? Yet on rainy autumn nights, they gatheredeating pancakes (sometimes cheese, sometimes mince) from the factory canteen, watching telly, playing Monopoly, then dashing home, bright-eyed and laughing.
William helped her arrange payments for the house, the fees surprisingly low. Her gratitude warmed into something deeper, though he didnt yet return itjust stayed a friend.
Dannys father surprised her, though. No shouting, as hed done with Dorothy. Instead, he thanked her. «Just dont spoil him,» he warned, not unkindly. «Dont let him take advantage.»
So this was her new life. A home of her own, new faces around her. Lucy married her Peter, visited once with his friendbut Emily barely noticed the stranger. Her heart was full of someone else. Unrequited, but hope flickered.
And she remembered Dorothy. Every corner of the warm house echoed with her presence.
How Emily longed to be even a little like her. So she kept the womans memory brightthis good, simple soul whod left her not just a house, but a legacy of kindness. Now Emily wanted to pass it on, to those who needed it most.
