Margaret wiped her damp hands on her apron and, wincing from the ache in her back, shuffled toward the front door. The doorbell had chimed gently, but this was the third time. Shed been polishing the front window and hadnt made it to the hallway straight away. Standing on the doorstep was a young woman, delicate but pale, with shadows under her eyes.
Margaret, I was told you might have a room to let?
Goodness, these neighboursalways sending folk my way! I dont let rooms, never have.
But I heard youve got three bedrooms.
What of it? Why should that mean I must rent them out? I like my peace and quiet.
Im sorry. They said you were kind, and I thought
The girl blinked hard, her eyes glistening, then turned slowly toward the steps, her shoulders shaking.
Wait, love! I havent said no! Young ones these days, so quick to tears. Come inside, lets talk. Whats your name? First-name terms, shall we?
Sophie.
Sophie, eh? Bet your dad was a scholar or something, wasnt he?
I never knew him. I grew up in a childrens home. No mother either. Someone found me on a doorstep and took me to the police. I wasnt even a month old.
Right then, no need to fret. Lets have a cuppa and chat. Hungry?
No, I bought a scone earlier.
A scone! Oh, you young onesnever eating proper, then wonder why youre poorly by thirty. Sit down, theres pea and ham soup. Teas on. Ive got jam enough for an army. My husband passed five years back, but I still stock up for two out of habit. Eat first, then you can help me with the windows.
Margaret, could I do something else? Im feeling light-headedafraid I might topple off the sill. Im expecting.
Blimey! Just what I neededa pregnant lass. Ive got principles, mind. Did you get yourself in a fix?
Why assume the worst? Im married. James was in the same home as me. Hes in the army now. Came home on leave last month. My landlady found out and gave me notice. Ive a week to find somewhere. We lived just round the corner. But, well circumstances.
Aye circumstances. So what am I to do with you? Shift my bed to the spare room, I suppose. Fine then, take my room. And dont you dare offer rentIll not hear of it. Go fetch your things.
No need to go far. Everything James and I own is in a bag by the steps. My weeks up, and Ive been knocking on doors since morning.
So they became two. Sophie studied dressmaking. Margaret had been on disability since a railway accident years ago, so she stayed home, knitting lace doilies and baby booties to sell at the village market. Her work was intricate, like spun sugar, and sold well. Money wasnt short, especially with vegetables from the garden. Saturdays, they gardened together. Sundays, Margaret went to church while Sophie stayed home, rereading Jamess letters and replying. Sophie rarely attendedshe wasnt accustomed yet. She often complained of back pain and dizziness.
One Saturday, while pottering in the garden, Sophie grew weary quickly, and Aunt Margaret sent her inside to rest with the old records theyd once bought together. That evening, after raking leaves, the expectant mother lay down. Margaret tossed dry branches onto the bonfire, watching the flames when suddenly Sophie cried, Mum! Mum, come quick! Heart pounding, forgetting her bad knees and back, Margaret rushed inside. Sophie clutched her stomach, crying out. In a panic, Margaret flagged down a neighbour, and they sped to hospital in an old Morris Minor. Sophie moaned, Mum, it hurts! Its too soonIm due mid-July. Mum, please pray for me! Tears streamed down Margarets face as she whispered prayers.
From admissions, Sophie was wheeled away while the neighbour drove a weeping Margaret home. She prayed all night, begging the Virgin Mary to spare the baby. By morning, she rang the hospital.
Your daughters fine. She asked for you and James, cried a bit, then slept. Doctor says the dangers passed, but shell stay a fortnight. Her irons low. Feed her well when shes home.
When Sophie returned, they talked long into the night. Sophie spoke of James.
Hes not just any orphan. We grew up together, been friends since school, then fell in love. Hes everything to me. See how often he writes? Want to see his photo? Heresecond from the right, smiling.
Handsome Margaret lied. Her glasses were old, and the tiny image showed only blurry shapes. Sophie, whyd you call me mum earlier?
Oh, just slipped out. Habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Mostly grew out of it. Comes back when Im scared.
I see Margaret sighed, faintly disappointed.
Aunt Margaret, tell me about yourself. Why no photos of your husband or children? You never had any?
No. Had a son once, but he died a babe. After the accident, I couldnt have more. My husband was like a child to medoted on him. He was my world, like James is yours. After he passed, I put the photos away. Too painful. Hes with God now, but tears wont help him. I hid them to spare myself the grief. But ask James for a proper photowell frame it.
On Christmas Eve, they decorated the house, speaking of baby Jesus, watching for the first star. Sophie fidgeted, rubbing her back.
Youre half-listening, love. Whats wrong?
Aunt Margaret, call an ambulance. Its time.
What? Youve a week left!
Mustve misjudged. Please hurry.
Within the hour, they reached hospital. On Christmas Day, Sophie gave birth to a beautiful girl. That same day, Margaret sent a telegram to the young father.
January was hectic. The baby brought joy but demanded constant care. With Jamess blessing, Sophie named her daughter Maggie. Margaret wept. Little Maggie meant sleepless nights, but they were happy troubles. Margaret even forgot her aches.
One mild winter day, Margaret ran errands. On her return, she spotted Sophie with the pramthe young mum had ventured out.
Well take a longer walk, alright?
Of course. Ill start lunch.
Entering, Margaret spotted a framed photo on the table. She chuckled. Found it, did she? Picked his youngest pictureyoung folks always do.
The soup simmered when Sophie returned, the neighbours boy helping with the pram. They unwrapped the sleeping baby, tiptoeing into the parlour.
Sophie, Margaret smiled, howd you know where to find Edwards photos?
What dyou mean?
This one. Margaret pointed.
But you asked James for a proper photo. He had one taken. I found a frame on the shelf.
Hands trembling, Margaret lifted the frame. It wasnt Edward. A young sergeant grinned cheekily. She sat, pale, staring blankly. Sophie sobbed, pressing smelling salts to her nose.
Mum, look at me! Whats wrong?
Sophie, open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring the photos.
Sophie fetched albums and frames. One showed James?
Whos this? James? No, its old. Who is it, mum?
Its Edward, my husband. Sophie, where was James born?
Dont know. He was brought to the home from Manchester after a train crash. They said his parents died.
Oh, what a dreadful mistake! My boy, Williamthey showed me Recognised his little shirt. But his face My William! Youre alive! Your wife and child are here, and I didnt know. Oh Lord, you brought Sophie to me. Love, pass me the photo.
Bewildered, Sophie handed it over. Margaret kissed it, tears falling. William, my darling boy!
James, Sophie whispered.
Call him James, but this is my son! Look at his fathertheyre identical!
Sophie hesitated.
Sophie, what of his birthmark? A star above the right elbow? Thats all I had after the crashage and shirt. His arm was hurt, and I couldnt see it. Why so quiet? Is there a mark?
There is. Star-shaped. Oh mum, there is!
They clung to each other, weeping, oblivious to little Maggies cries from the nursery.
Sometimes, life surprises us with second chanceshidden in the folds of fate, waiting to unfold when we least expect them.
