Margaret dried her damp hands on her apron, wincing at the ache in her back as she shuffled toward the front door. The bell had chimed gently, but this was the third ringshed been polishing the sitting-room window and hadnt reached the hallway in time. On the doorstep stood a slight young woman, pretty but pallid, with shadows under her eyes.
«Margaret, they mentioned you might have a room to let?»
«Oh, those nosy neighbours, always sending folk my way! I dont let rooms, never have.»
«But I heard youve got three bedrooms.»
«What of it? Why should I feel obliged to rent them out? Im accustomed to my own company.»
«Im sorry. They said you were kind, and I thought» The girls voice wavered. She blinked back tears before turning to leave, her shoulders hunched.
«Hold on, love! I havent refused you yet! Young people these days, so quick to weep. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? Shall we be informal?»
«Lily.»
«Lily, eh? Id wager your fathers a schoolmaster or something of the sort, hm?»
«I never knew him. I grew up in a childrens home. No mother either. Kind souls found me on a church step and took me to the constables. I wasnt a month old.»
«Right, no need for gloom. Lets have a cuppa. Hungry?»
«No, I bought a scone earlier.»
«A scone, she says! Youth today, never minding themselvesby thirty, youll have ulcers. Sit down, theres pea soup on the hob. Well brew fresh tea. Ive jars of jam enough for an army. My Harold passed five years back, but old habits die hard. Eat first, then you can help me finish the windows.»
«Margaret, might I do something else? Im feeling lightheadedafraid Ill topple off the sill. Im expecting.»
«Good gracious! Just what I neededa mother-to-be on my hands. Ive my principles. Did you land yourself in trouble?»
«Must you assume the worst? Im married. James was at the same home. Hes been called up for service. Came home on leave last month. My landlady found out and gave me notice. Ive a week to find lodgings. We lived just round the corner, butwell, you see how it is.»
«Aye. How it is. What am I to do with you? Shift my bed to the spare room, I suppose. Very well, take my chamber. And dont speak of rentI wont hear of it, or Ill be cross. Fetch your things.»
«I shant need to go far. All mine and Jamess bits are in a holdall by the gate. The weeks up, and Ive been traipsing about since dawn.»
So they became two. Lily studied dressmaking at the technical college. Margaret, pensioned off after a rail collision years prior, spent her days knitting lace trimmings and baby clothes to sell at the village market. Her work, delicate as frost, fetched fair prices. They lacked for little, especially with the veg patchs yield. Saturdays were for gardening; Sundays, Margaret attended Mass while Lily lingered at home, poring over Jamess letters. Lily seldom joined hershe wasnt raised to it. She complained of backaches and dizzy spells.
One Saturday, after an hour among the cabbages, Lily wilted. Margaret sent her inside to rest with the wireless. Raking leaves, Margaret fed the bonfire, lost in thought until a cry pierced the air: «Mum! Mum, come quick!» Heart pounding, she forgot her creaky knees and dashed inside. Lily clutched her belly, weeping. A neighbours son drove them to hospital in his rattling Morris, Lily moaning, «Mum, it hurts! Its too soonIm due mid-July. Pray for me, you know how!» Margarets tears fell as she whispered Hail Marys.
At admissions, Lily was whisked away. The neighbour drove a shaken Margaret home. She prayed through the night, begging Our Ladys intercession. By morning, she rang the hospital.
«Your girls fine. Asked for you and James, cried a bit, then slept. The doctor says the babes safe, but shell stay a fortnight. Her bloods low. Feed her up when shes home.»
Upon discharge, they talked till the small hours. Lily spoke of James.
«Hes not just any orphan. We grew up together, sweethearts since school. Hes my family. See how he writes? Would you like his photo? Heresecond from the right, grinning.»
«Handsome.» Margaret fibbed. Her spectacles were overdue for replacement, and the snapshot was a blur of uniforms. «Lily, whyd you call me mum in the garden?»
«Oh, fright made it slip. Its a habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Ive mostly shaken itexcept when scared. Sorry.»
«I see.» Margaret sighed, oddly deflated.
«Aunt Margaret, what of you? Why no photos of Harold or children? Youve none, yes?»
«Had a son. Lost him in infancy. After my accident, no more came. Harold was my child in a wayI doted on him. When he died, I put the pictures away. Even knowing hes with God, the sight brought grief. So I hid them. Tears dont help the departed. But ask James for a proper photowell frame it. Ive spares in the attic.»
Come Christmas Eve, they decked the halls, speaking of Bethlehems star. Lily fidgeted, rubbing her spine.
«Youre miles away, love. Whats amiss?»
«Call an ambulance. Its time.»
«But youve another week!»
«I mustve misreckoned. Please hurry.»
By Boxing Day, Lily bore a bonny girl. That same morn, Margaret wired James.
January was a whirl. Baby Annie was a joy, if demanding. With Jamess blessing, Lily named her after Margaret, who wept. Sleepless nights followed, but Margarets aches seemed lighter.
One unseasonably mild day, Margaret returned from errands to find Lily pushing the pram.
«Well walk a bit longer, all right?»
«Of course. Ill start lunch.»
Inside, Margaret spotted a framed photo on the sideboard. She chuckled. «Found it, did she? Picked Harolds youthyoung folks prefer fresh faces.»
As soup simmered, Lily returned. The neighbours boy carried the pram. They unwrapped the dozing babe, tiptoeing to the parlour.
«Lily,» Margaret smiled, «howd you know where Harolds photos were?»
«I dont follow.»
«This, here?» Margaret pointed.
«You asked for Jamess picture. He had it taken proper. I found a frame on the shelf.»
Hands trembling, Margaret lifted it. Not Harold. A young corporal smirked up at her. She sank onto the sofa, ghost-pale. Lily, hysterical, waved smelling salts.
«Mum, look at me! Whats wrong?»
«Lily, open the wardrobes top shelfthe albums. Bring them.»
Lily fetched them. One frame held James?
«Good Lord! Whos this? James? But its old. Who is it, mum?»
«Harold. Lily, where was James born?»
«He doesnt know. Came to the home from Manchester after a train crash. They told him his parents died.»
«Oh, merciful heavens! My boy, Williamthey showed me I knew the little shirt he wore. But his faceI couldnt William! Youre alive! Your wife, your childhere, and I never knew. Lily, pass the photo.»
Bewildered, Lily handed it over. Margaret kissed it, tears raining. «William, my love, my son!»
«James,» Lily whispered.
«Call him what you will, but this is my boy! Look at Harolds picturetheyre peas in a pod!»
Lily faltered.
«Lily, did he have a birthmark? A star above the right elbow? Thats all I had after the crashage and the shirt. His arm was hurt, the mark hidden. Why so quiet? Is it there?»
«It is. Like a star. Oh mum, dear heart, its there!»
They clung together, weeping, deaf to little Annies hungry wails.
Sometimes, the family we lose finds its way back in ways we least expect.
