**Diary Entry: September 12th**
I was orphaned at six. My mother already had two girls and was bringing the third into the world. I remember everythinghow she screamed, how the neighbours gathered and wept, how her voice faded away…
Why didnt they call a doctor? Why not take her to hospital? Ive never understood it. Was it because our village was so remote? Were the roads blocked by snow? I still dont know, but there must have been a reason. Mum died in childbirth, leaving me, my sister, and a newborn baby, Lily.
After Mums death, Dad was lost. We had no family nearbythey were all up Northso no one could help him care for us. The neighbours urged him to remarry quickly. Less than a week after the funeral, he was engaged.
They suggested he propose to the village schoolteacher, a kind woman. He did, and she agreed. Clearly, she fancied himDad was young and handsome, tall and lean with dark, almost Romany eyes you could lose yourself in.
That evening, Dad brought his fiancée home. “Ive brought you a new mum!” he announced.
I was furious, bitterness twisting inside me. I didnt understandbut I *felt* it wasnt right. The house still smelled of Mum. We wore the dresses shed sewn and washed, and now here he was, handing us a replacement. Looking back, I get itbut then, I hated them both.
Theyd been drinking, and she said, “Call me Mum, and Ill stay.”
I turned to my little sister, Rosie. “Shes not our mum. Ours is dead. Dont call her that!”
Rosie burst into tears, and I, the eldest, stepped forward. “No. Youre not our mother. Youre a stranger!”
The schoolteacher scoffed. “Quite the sharp tongue for such a little girl! Well then, I wont stay.”
She left. Dad hesitated, then stopped at the threshold, head bowed. He turned back, gathered us in his arms, and wept. We cried with himeven baby Lily in her cradle whimpered. We mourned Mum; he mourned his wife. But our grief was greater. A childs sorrow for their mother is the same in every language.
Dad stayed two weeks before leaving for logging workthere were no other jobs in our village. He left money with a neighbour for food, entrusted Lily to another, and went.
We were alone. The neighbour cooked and lit the stove, then leftshe had her own life. All day, we were cold, hungry, and scared. The village began looking for a solution. They needed a womansomeone whod care for us as her own.
Rumour led them to Aunt Grace, a distant cousin of a villager. Abandoned by her husbandchildless, though some said she’d lost a baby. No one knew for sure. They wrote to her, and through another aunt, she came.
Dad was still away when Grace arrived one morning. She moved so quietly I woke to footstepslike Mumsand the smell of pancakes. Rosie and I peeked out. Grace was washing dishes, sweeping, her movements calm.
“Come on, my golden girls,” she called. “Time to eat!”
“Golden girls” puzzled uswe were fair-haired, like Mum. Shy but curious, we crept out. “Sit down,” she said. We devoured the pancakes, warming to her. “Call me Aunt Grace.”
She bathed us, scrubbed everything clean, then left. The next day, she returned. Soon, the house gleamed like it had under Mums care. Three weeks passed. Grace was kind but never let us clingthough Rosie, just three, adored her. I held back. Grace was strict, distantunlike Mum, whod sung and danced, calling Dad “Arthur.”
One evening, Grace asked, “Whats your father like?”
I blurted, “Hes wonderful! So well-behaved! When he drinks, he falls right asleep!”
Her smile faltered. “Does he drink often?”
Rosie chirped, “All the time!” I kicked her under the table. “Only on special occasions!”
Grace left, reassuredand Dad returned that night. “I expected a pigsty,” he said, glancing around. “But youre living like royalty.”
We gushed about Grace. He listened, thoughtful, then asked, “So, this new ladywhats she like?”
Rosie beamed. “Shes ever so pretty! And she makes pancakes!”
Now, I smile. Grace wasnt “pretty” by most standardsplain and slightbut do children know beauty?
Dad laughed, dressed smartly, and went to meet her. The next day, he brought her home. Grace entered shyly, as if afraid.
I whispered to Rosie, “Lets call her Mum. Shes nice.” Together, we shouted, “Mum! Mums here!”
Dad and Grace fetched Lily. For Lily, Grace became a true motherdoting, protective. Lily never remembered Mum. Rosie forgot. Only Dad and I carried her memory. Once, I caught him staring at Mums photo, murmuring, “Why did you leave so soon? You took all my joy with you.”
I didnt live with them long. At ten, I was sent to a boarding schoolno secondary school in our village. Later, I went to college. I always wanted to leave earlybut why? Grace never hurt me. She cared for me like her own, yet I kept my distance. Was I ungrateful?
I trained as a midwife. Maybe not by chance. I cant turn back time to save Mumbut Ill save another.
