Margaret wiped her wet hands, groaning from the pain in her back, and went to answer the door. The doorbell rang timidly, but this was already the third time. She had been cleaning a window and hadn’t gotten to the doorway right away. Outside stood a very young girl, pleasant looking but pale with tired eyes.
“Margaret, I heard you might have a room to let?”
“Oh, the neighbours are always sending someone my way! I don’t let any rooms, and I’ve never done so.”
“But, I was told you have three rooms?”
“So what? Why must I rent them out? I’m used to living alone.”
“Well, I’m sorry. They said you were kindhearted, so I thought…”
The girl turned away, trying to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, and slowly walked down the steps, her shoulders shaking.
“Hey, come back! I haven’t turned you away! Oh, these youngsters today, bursting into tears at the slightest thing. Come on in, let’s have a chat. What’s your name? Shall we just say ‘you’?”
“Marie.”
“Well, ‘Sea’, does that mean you have a sailor in the family?”
“No, I’ve no father. I grew up in an orphanage. No mother either. Kind folks found me in the entrance and brought me to the police shortly after I was born.”
“Oh, dear. Don’t take offense, come in and have some tea. Hungry?”
“No, I bought a pie earlier.”
“She bought a pie! Oh, you young ones, don’t think of yourselves. By thirty, you’ll have a peptic ulcer! Sit down, there’s some hot pea soup. We’ll warm up some tea as well. I have a lot of jam. It’s been five years since my husband passed, but I still make it for two out of habit. Once we’ve eaten, you can help me finish cleaning the window.”
“Margaret, could I do something else? I’m feeling dizzy and worried I might fall off the windowsill—I’m pregnant.”
“Even better! Just what I need, a pregnant girl. But I have strict rules. Did you end up in this situation by accident?”
“Why assume that? I’m married. John, from my orphanage, and I. He got drafted into the army. Came by on leave recently. As soon as my landlady found out I was expecting, she gave me a week to find new lodging. We lived not far from here. But you see the circumstances.”
“Yes… Circumstances… What should I do with you then? Perhaps give you my own bed in the guest room? Alright, take my room. And I won’t charge you—don’t even mention money, or I’ll get cross. Go gather your things.”
“I won’t have to go far. All John’s and my things are in a bag by the entrance. I’ve been to countless doors since morning as my week’s nearly up.”
So, they became two. Marie was finishing her studies in dress design. Margaret had been on disability for years after a major train accident, so she stayed home knitting lace doilies, collars, and baby shoes to sell at the local market. Her handiwork was quite inventive: lace doilies, tablecloths, and collars resembling sea foam, delicate, almost ethereal, which sold well. The house was financially comfortable. Some money also came from selling garden produce. On Saturdays, they worked in the garden. Sundays, Margaret went to church while Marie stayed home, rereading letters from John and replying. Marie rarely attended church, not being used to it. She often complained of back pain and dizziness.
One Saturday, as they prepared the land for winter, Marie quickly tired, and Aunt Margaret sent her to rest, to listen to old records she and her husband had once collected. So, that Saturday, after working with the rake, the expectant mother lay down to relax. Margaret threw dry twigs and weeds onto a fire, watching the flames thoughtfully. Suddenly, she heard Marie’s cry, “Mum! Mum! Come quickly!” Her heart pounding, Margaret sprinted to the house, forgetting her aching legs and back. Marie was clutching her stomach. They quickly convinced a neighbor to drive them to the nearest hospital. Marie cried, “Mum, it hurts! But it’s too soon! I’m due mid-January. Mum, pray for me, you know how!” Tears in her eyes, Margaret prayed ceaselessly.
Marie was taken to the hospital on a stretcher. The neighbor brought Margaret home. All night she prayed to the Virgin Mary for the child’s safety. The next morning, she called the hospital.
“Your daughter is fine. She called out for you and John at first but then calmed down and fell asleep. The doctor says there’s no longer a miscarriage threat, but she’ll need to stay here for a couple of weeks. Also, her hemoglobin is low. Ensure she eats well and rests more.”
When Marie was released, they talked late into the night. Marie spoke incessantly of John.
“He’s not a foundling like me. He’s an orphan. We were in the same orphanage for many years. We were friends since school days, and then we fell in love. He cares for me. It’s even more than love. You can tell, seeing how often he writes. Want to see his picture? There, second from the right. Smiling.”
“Handsome…” Margaret hesitated to hurt Marie’s feelings. She hadn’t replaced her glasses in a long time. The photo was full of soldiers, and the print was very small. She couldn’t make out the second one, nor the third or fifth. Just outlines… “Marie, I’ve been meaning to ask, why did you call me Mum in the garden that day?”
“Oh, just slipped my mind in fear. Orphanage habits die hard. Everyone from the director to the janitor was Mum or Dad there. I somewhat outgrew it. But when I’m worried or nervous, it slips out again. Please forgive me.”
“I see…” Margaret sighed with disappointment.
“Aunt Margaret, tell me about yourself. Why aren’t there photos of your husband or children anywhere? No children, I suppose?”
“No, no children. I had a son, but he passed before his first birthday. After my disability, I couldn’t have more. My husband was like a child to me. Spoiled him, treasured him more than life. He was, like your John for you, the only person in my world. After I buried him, I put away all the photos. Though I’m a believer and understand he’s with the Lord now, it’s unbearably lonely without him. Looking at his photos, I’d burst into tears. So, I hid them away, avoiding futile temptation. What he needs now is my prayer, not tears.” She paused, then added, “You should ask your John for a larger photo, so we could frame it. I have a few frames around somewhere.”
On Christmas Eve, Margaret and Marie prepared for the holiday, decorating the rooms, talking about the baby Jesus, and waiting for the first star. Marie kept shifting seats, rubbing her lower back.
“You seem out of sorts, dear. Aren’t you hearing a word I’m saying? What’s got you all fidgety like this?”
“Aunt Margaret, you should call an ambulance. I’m having the baby.”
“What do you mean, darling? Isn’t it supposed to be another week?”
“Guess I was wrong. Call now, please, I can’t hold on much longer.”
Half an hour later, the ambulance was at the hospital. On Christmas Day, Marie gave birth to a girl. That day, Margaret brightened the young father’s day with a telegram.
January proved to be intense. The baby brought joy, but her needs were demanding. With John’s agreement, Marie named the girl Margie. Margaret was moved to tears. And Margie certainly kept them busy with sleepless nights, teething troubles, and occasional fussiness. But these were joyful challenges. Margaret’s health issues seemed to trouble her less.
The weather was surprisingly warm for winter. Margaret took advantage of it, running errands. On her way back, she met Marie pushing the pram outside the building, as the young mother decided to take baby Margie on a walk.
“We’ll stroll a bit longer, alright, Aunt Margaret?”
“Enjoy your walk, and I’ll start on lunch.”
Entering the room, Margaret glanced at the table and noticed her husband’s photo in a frame. She chuckled, “She found them. Chose a picture from his youngest days. She isn’t interested in looking at old folks, I suppose.”
The borscht simmered nicely on the stove when Marie brought Margie back. A neighbor’s lad helped carry the pram. The women gently unwrapped the baby. Her button nose softly snored. On tiptoe, they moved to the sitting room.
“Marie,” Margaret smiled, “how did you find where Alex’s photos were stored?”
“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”
“And this?” Margaret pointed to the framed photo.
“This? You asked John for a larger photo. He went to a studio just for that. I found the frame on the bookshelf.”
With trembling hands, Margaret picked up the photo. Only now did she realize it wasn’t her husband. The young sergeant beamed at the camera. Margaret sat on the sofa, pale, her thoughts distant. When she turned toward Marie, the young woman stood sobbing, clutching ammonia-scented cotton.
“Mom, look at me! Look into my eyes! What’s wrong, Mum?” Marie sobbed.
“Marie, open the cupboard, and on the top shelf, you’ll find photographs. Bring them all.”
Marie returned with several albums and framed pictures. From the top, John’s face stared back… or was it?
“Oh my God! Who’s this? Is that John? No, this photo is old. Who is it, Mum?”
“It’s my husband, Alex. Marie, darling, where was John born?”
“I don’t know. He was brought to our orphanage from London. He ended up there after a train accident. They told him when he grew up that his parents died.”
“Oh, what a terrible mistake! Mikey, my dear boy, they showed me a body, and I identified it as him. Because the shirt was just like his… But the face, there wasn’t any. My son, my dear, you’re alive! Your wife and daughter live here with me, and I didn’t even know. Dear God, you brought Marie to me. Marie, please pass the photo.”
Utterly confused, Marie handed over the framed image. Margaret kissed it, tears flowing, “Mikey, my precious, my child!”
“John,” Marie gently corrected.
“Let him be John, but this is my son, Marie, my son! Look at his father’s picture, the resemblance is uncanny!”
The young woman still had her doubts.
“Marie, what about the birthmark? Is there one above the right elbow? Like a star? I identified the body in the crash as him only because of the age and the shirt identical to Mikey’s. The arm was crushed, so no birthmark. Why aren’t you saying anything? Is there a birthmark?”
“There is a mark. It’s shaped like a star. Mum, darling, the birthmark’s there!”
The two women cried, embracing, oblivious to the tiny cries from the other room, as little Margie demanded her mother’s warmth.
