Evelyn absently twisted a scrap of paper in her handsthe order for a DNA test for little Lillian. Why? Who could possibly want this? Had Lillians birth parents finally been found? Then why hadnt they come themselves, why no word? So many questions, and not a single answer.
Mum, whats wrong? Lillian touched her shoulder. Ive been calling you for ages.
Just thinking, Evelyn murmured.
Whos writing to you?
Oh, no one important, Evelyn said quickly, tucking the letter into her apron pocket.
I picked a bucket of blackberries. Theyre sweet. Filled the water tank too. Ill water the garden later. Do you need anything else? The girls and I are going down to the brookits baking today.
Lost in thought, Evelyn replied, Go on, but mind yourselves.
Lillian snatched a few warm pastries, grabbed a towel, and darted off.
Evelyn needed time to gather her wits. Stepping outside, she sat on the porch step. *What do I do? Tomorrows Lillians birthday. What a gift this is. No wonder Ive barely slept all week.*
A sleek motorcar crawled down the lane and stopped at the gate. An elegant older woman stepped out.
Good day. Im looking for Evelyn Nicholson.
Evelyns heart clenched. She knewsomehowthis woman and the letter were connected.
Thats me.
Might we speak? My name is Margaret Whitmore.
Goodness, where are my manners? Come inside, Evelyn invited.
The woman signalled to her driver, who retrieved a large bag from the boot. Evelyn watched, dread creeping in.
James, youre free until Margaret glanced at her expensive wristwatch, three. Ill ring if needed sooner.
You might fancy a walk down to the brook, Evelyn fussed. Just follow the footpath. Its lovely there. Ill fetch you a towel. And best park the motor under the birch treesno sense leaving it in the sun.
Might I sit? Margaret asked once the driver had gone.
Make yourself at home, Evelyn said, brushing invisible crumbs from the table. Ill put the kettle on. Do you take yours with a bit of mint?
As the kettle settled on the hob, Evelyn turned backonly to find Margaret staring at a large photograph of Lillian hanging on the wall. Tears welled in the womans eyes.
Thats my Emily. Ive found her.
Evelyns legs buckled. The room swayed. She gripped the chair to steady herself.
Thats *Lillian*. Do you hear me? *Lillian*! Evelyns voice cracked as she slumped over the table, weeping.
Margaret moved to her side, stroking her back. I dont mean to take her from you. I only want to be part of her life. Please, calm yourself. She drew Evelyn into an embrace. We must talk properly.
Sitting opposite, Margaret took Evelyns hands. Tell me how the child came to you. I know fragments, but not the whole.
Evelyn met her gazethose eyes, full of sorrow.
I found her at the edge of the woods while searching for our missing cow, Evelyn began, voice trembling. Twelve years ago tomorrowthats the day we celebrate her birthday. She was soaked, filthy, curled in a ditch with a sodden teddy bear clutched tight. At first, I thought it was just rubbisha bundle of rags. Then I saw her.
Evelyn twisted a lock of hair around her finger. Poor lamb couldnt stand, too weak even to cry. I carried her home, fed her, and she slept like the dead. A shudder ran through her at the memory.
Sent the neighbours boy for the district nurse and to alert the constable. The nurse came running, tried to examine her, but the child clung to me so fiercely her little fingers turned white. The nurse reckoned she was about two, healthy but starved near to death.
The kettles faint whistle went unnoticed.
The constable took notes, promised to report it. Later, the village folk brought clothes and toysbut shed not let go of that bear. I washed them together. Evelyn fell silent, lost in recollection. Margaret waited patiently.
For three days, she refused to leave my arms. Always hungry. The nurse warned me to feed her little and often. Even a year later, shed hide bits of bread about the house. Called her Lillianfound her in July, didnt I? Soon she was walking, then running. Thriving. Slept beside me, though shed cry out in the night. Terrible dreams, I reckon. Didnt speak a word at first.
Evelyn drew a shaky breath.
When the child welfare officers came a month later, she was calling me *Mum*. They couldnt pry her away. Left with just a summons for me to bring her in. Thank heaven no deadline. I was beside myselfhow could I send her to an orphanage? Id been in one. Knew what hell that was.
Margarets hand stilled on Evelyns arm. She seemed to wrestle with a question.
I tried to adopt her, but they refusedunmarried, see? In desperation, I asked a young chap from the village: *Marry me, just for the papers. Well part once its done.* Wrote him a promiseno claims on him. Ended up with a husband *and* a daughter. Life has its own plans. Were happy still.
Perhaps soothed by Margarets touch or her quiet attentiveness, Evelyn steadied.
You wanted to ask something?
Yes, dear. How did *you* come to be in an orphanage?
My parents died in an expedition. Volcanologists. I was just eight, staying with Gran here in the village. They wouldnt grant her custodypoor health. No other kin qualified either. Too poor, or unfit homes. Evelyns voice hardened. Think someone lined their pockets. Our London flat was sold the day before they died. Their friends tried to untangle itno luck.
Margaret studied Evelyns face, thinking, *No mistakethis is a good soul.*
Shunted me to a home far from London but near Gran. I kept running away. They threatened to send me to an asylum. Then the schoolmasterMr. Thompsonarranged for me to live with Gran while technically in the system. Three years later, London granted her custody. Evelyn smiled faintly. I owe him everything. He helped with Lillian too.
She blinked, suddenly recalling the kettle. Lord, I promised you tea! She bustled about, setting out fresh scones.
Ive brought treats as well. Margaret produced elegant packages. Sweets, biscuits, fruit.
You neednt have. Butwho *are* you to Lillian?
Her grandmother.
Evelyn sank onto a chair. You said you wouldnt take her?
I wont, dear. Shes suffered enough. Margaret reached for her pills. Might I have some water?
Are you ill?
Yes. Worse than Id like. She paused. Youll wonder how I found you. A private investigator. He tracked the clues herepolice reports, welfare records. Overstepped, sending that DNA order. I was abroad, didnt know. Came straight here upon returning.
Evelyn silently laid the letter on the table.
Forgive me. You mustve been terrified. Margaret opened her handbag. Herephotos of my son and granddaughter. No test needed, really. But it must be done. Emily*Lillian*is his heir.
Evelyn studied the photos. The girl in them *was* Lillian.
How do we tell her?
Guests? Hullo! Whats this about? And whys the kettle screeching?
Neither woman had heard Lillian return. Margaret went pale, clutching her chest.
Lillian, this this is your grandmother, Evelyn faltered.
The girl eyed Margaret warily. Then
Grandmother! I *knew* youd find me! She flung herself into Margarets arms. You gave me my bear!
The three wept together. Much remained unsettledbut one thing was clear: Margaret had found more than just her granddaughter.
And on the stove, the kettle whistled on.
