The ache in her back didnt stop her as she moved to open the door.
Elizabeth wiped her damp hands and, wincing from the pain in her back, shuffled toward the door. The knocking had been soft but persistentthis was the third time. Shed been busy cleaning a window and hadnt hurried to answer. Behind the door stood a young woman, pretty but pale, with tired eyes.
“Elizabeth, they say you might have a room to let?”
“Ah, those gossiping neighbors! Always sending people my way! I dont rent roomsnever have.”
“But I was told you have three bedrooms.”
“So what? Must I rent them out? Im used to living alone.”
“Well, pardon me. They said you were kind-hearted, so I thought”
The girl, fighting back tears, turned and began slowly descending the steps. Her shoulders trembled.
“Love, come back! I havent refused you yet! Young people these daysso sensitive, crying over nothing. Come inside, lets talk. Whats your name? May I call you dear?”
“Gemma.”
“Gemma? Like the jewel, then?”
“I never knew my father. Im an orphan. No mother either. I was found in a building hallway by kind strangers and taken to the police. I wasnt even a month old.”
“Now, dont take offense. Come, lets have tea and talk. Are you hungry?”
“No, I bought a bun.”
“A bun! Oh, youthyou never think of yourselves, and by thirty, youll have ulcers. Sit down, theres still some pea soup warm. Well heat the tea, too. Ive plenty of jam. My husband passed five years ago, and I still cook for two out of habit. Well eat, then youll help me finish the window.”
“Elizabeth, could I do another chore? I feel dizzyIm afraid I might fall. Im expecting.”
“Well, I never! Thats my luck! Did you get yourself in trouble?”
“Why assume the worst? Im married. Edwardfrom the same orphanage as me. He was called up for service, came home on leave recently. When my landlady found out, she gave me a week to leave. We lived nearby, butyou see how it is.”
“How it is What am I to do with you? Well move my bed into Pauls old room. Fine, you take mine. I wont take rentdont even think it, or Ill be cross. Go fetch your things.”
“Its not far. All Edwards and my things are in a bag downstairs. My weeks up, and Ive been knocking doors all morning with it.”
And so, they became two. Gemma continued studying fashion design. Elizabeth, long since retired after a railway accident, stayed home knitting lace doilies, collars, and baby booties, selling them at the local market. Her work sold welldelicate as sea foam, light and airy. Money wasnt tight. Some came from the gardens produce. Saturdays, they worked outside together. Sundays, Elizabeth went to church while Gemma stayed home, rereading letters from Edward. She rarely joined, complaining of headaches and backaches.
One Saturday, after harvesting, they prepped the soil for winter. Gemma tired quickly, and Elizabeth sent her to the cottage to rest and listen to old records she and her husband had bought years ago. That afternoon, after raking, the expectant mother lay down to rest. Elizabeth burned dry branches, lost in thoughtuntil Gemmas cry pierced the air: *”Mum! Mum, hurry!”* Heart pounding, Elizabeth forgot her aching legs and rushed inside. Gemma clutched her belly, crying out. Quickly, Elizabeth persuaded a neighbor to help, and in his old Rover, they sped to the maternity ward. Gemma whimpered, *”Mum, it hurts! Its too soonIm not due till mid-January! Pray for me, you know how!”* Elizabeth wept, praying without pause.
At the hospital, Gemma was wheeled away on a stretcher while the neighbor drove Elizabeth home. All night, she prayed to the Virgin for the babys safety. By morning, she called.
“Your daughters fine. She kept asking for you and Edward, crying, then calmed and slept. The doctor says the risks passed, but shell stay a few weeks. Her irons lowmind she eats and rests.”
When Gemma returned, they talked late into the night. Gemma spoke endlessly of Edward.
“He wasnt abandoned like me. Hes an orphan. We grew up together in the homefriends first, then in love. Hes so gentle. Its more than love, I think. He writes often Would you like to see his photo? Heresecond from the right, smiling.”
“Handsome lad” Elizabeth didnt want to upset her. Her glasses were old, and the tiny army photo showed only blurry outlines. “Gemma, why did you call me Mum in the garden?”
“Oh, I forgotI was scared. An orphanage habit. All adults were Mum or Dad, from the director to the plumber. Id nearly stopped, but when Im afraid, it slips out. Sorry.”
“I see” Elizabeth sighed.
“Auntie Liz, tell me about you. Why no photos of your husband or children? You never had any?”
“I had a son. He died before turning one. After the accident, I couldnt have more. My husband was like my childI cherished him. He was my world, like Edward is yours. When I buried him, I put all photos away. Im faithfulI know hes with Godbut it hurt too much. Seeing his face made me weep. Better hidden. He needs prayers, not tears. Ask Edward for a bigger photowell frame it. Ive got one somewhere.”
Come Christmas Eve, they decorated, spoke of the Holy Child, and waited for the first star. Gemma fidgeted, rubbing her lower back.
“Youre not well, love. Youre distracted. Why so restless?”
“Auntie, call an ambulance. The babys coming.”
“But darling, youve weeks left!”
“I mustve miscalculated. Please, hurryI cant wait.”
Within half an hour, they were at the hospital. And on Christmas Day, Gemma gave birth to a girl. That morning, Elizabeth sent the news by telegram to Edward.
January was hectic. The baby brought joy but worries, too. With Edwards blessing, Gemma named her Lily. Elizabeth wept at the honor. Little Lily filled their days with laughter and woessleepless nights, thrush, fussing. But they were happy troubles. Elizabeths own aches faded.
One mild winter day, Elizabeth returned from shopping to find Gemma by the door with the pramready for a walk.
“Enjoy the air, Auntie Liz!”
“You too, dear. Ill start lunch.”
Inside, Elizabeth glanced at the tableand froze. A framed photo of her husband sat there. She smiled. *”You found it. You chose his young face. Youth prefers youth.”*
The soup simmered as Gemma returned, a neighbor helping with the pram. They settled the sleeping baby and tiptoed out.
“Gemma,” Elizabeth beamed, “howd you find Williams photos?”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She pointed.
“That? You asked for a larger photo of Edward. He went to a studio. I found the frame on the bookshelf.”
Elizabeth grasped it with shaking hands. Only then did she seeit wasnt William. The young sergeant grinned cheekily. She sank onto the sofa, pale, staring. Gemma stood silently crying, a camphor compress in hand.
*”Mum, look at me! Whats wrong?”* she sobbed.
“Gemma, open the wardrobetop shelf, the photos. Bring them all.”
Gemma returned with albums and frames. A mans face smiled from one Edward?
“God above! Whos this? Is this Edward? No, its old. Who is it, Mum?”
“My husband, William. Gemma, love, where was Edward born?”
“I dont know. He was brought to our London orphanage after a train crash. They told him his parents died.”
“Dear Lord, what a terrible mistake! My baby Johnthey showed me a body. The shirt was his, but the face unrecognizable. My boy, my son! Youre alive! Your wife and child are *here*, and I didnt know! God sent you to me. Give me the photo.”
Dazed, Gemma handed it over. Elizabeth kissed it, weeping. *”My John, my treasure!”*
“Edward,” Gemma whispered.
“Call him Edward, but hes *my son*, Gemma! Look at his fathers phototheyre the same!”
Gemma still hesitated.
“Gemma, his birthmarkis there a star above”Right elbow,” Elizabeth whispered, trembling, and when Gemma nodded, tears streaming, the two women clung to each other, knowing that love, once lost, had found its way home again.
