Young woman Lucy Whitmore lay in the hospital. First, she had her appendix removed, then something went wrongthere was a slight inflammation, complications followed, so they kept her in. Not that she had anywhere to rush off to. She was on sick leave, obviously, so work could wait. Back at the textile factorys dormitory where she lived, her roommate Daisy would only be glad to have the place to herself a while longer, free to entertain her sweetheart, Pete, late into the night without interruption.
Lucy herself had no one like that. She wasnt as striking as golden-haired Daisyquiet, reserved, too much so for twenty-six. Life just hadnt fallen into place. Daisy would marry soon enough, and then another stranger would move in. The factory didnt build proper housing, no matter how many workers they needed.
These thoughts drifted through Lucys mind as she gazed at the blue sky beyond the window, glancing occasionally at her elderly wardmate, Edith Thompson. Edith slept most of the time, but when awake, theyd share slow, meandering conversations, trading stories. Lucy told her how shed ended up aloneparents gone, an older brother who drank away the family home before landing in prison for theft.
“All by myself, Auntie Edith,” Lucy sighed.
“No husband, then?” Edith asked, studying her. “Never?”
“Never. Just me. Only friend Ive got is Daisy, and shell be married soon. What about you? Any family?”
“Oh, plenty!” Edith said proudly. “No blood kin, but my boys are always close. If something needs fixing, painting, whitewashingtheyre there.”
And Edith told a story that left Lucy puzzled.
Turns out, Edith lived in an old house on the citys outskirts, inherited from her parents. Long widowed, childless, but aching for little ones, shed taken in the neighbourhood lads.
“Id bake scones or potato pasties, call them in. Theyd come running, five or six crowding round the table, devouring everything. Their parents worked all hours at the factory nearby. Left to themselves, they were.”
“Your husband didnt mind?”
“He grumbled, sure. But those boys would haul water from the yard pump, stack firewood neat as you please. Saved him the heavy lifting, so he let it be.”
“And now? Theyre grown, I suppose? Still visit?”
“They do! Bring their own little ones now. The older ones still pop by. Makes my heart glad. Always keep scones ready. Theyve visited me here, you know.”
Lucy rememberedthere had been visitors once or twice, but shed been too wrapped up in herself to notice.
“Not much time left for me, love,” Edith murmured suddenly. “But theres two boysTommy and Billy. Not exactly homeless, but near enough. Ones with his mum, the other his dad. Both parents work double shifts at the factory. Left to run wild.”
“You feed them?” Lucy asked, surprised.
“More than that. They do their homework here, help about the house. Otherwise, the streets wouldve swallowed them whole. Breaks my heart to think on it.”
Two days later, two scruffy lads burst into the wardTommy and Billyfollowed by their parents: a limping, burly man and a woman hollow-eyed from exhaustion. Lucy, now able to walk, slipped out to give them privacy.
When she returned, Edith was asleep, the bedside table laden with fruit, biscuits, and a bottle of custard.
Lucy stared at the sleeping woman, wondering how shed found the strength all these years to feed strangers children. Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boyDanny, the scamp. His parents drank so hard he sometimes slept rough until Edith took him in.
His father would storm over, shouting that she was spoiling the boy, forbidding her to “tame” him.
“What could I do?” Edith had said. “Hed still comeeat, help out. Once, he fixed a shelf thatd torn from the wall. Swept the floor when my back wouldnt bend. That day, I could barely feed him. He said he didnt come for foodjust to help.”
Shed paused, then added, “Boys feel things deeper than most grown men. Not greedy, not hard. Just lonely. Left alone too long.”
Lucy was nearly ready for discharge, but Edith stopped getting up altogether, fretting over her boys. Then another visitor camea smart, handsome man with a leather briefcase. Lucy tried to leave, but Edith stopped her.
“Lucy, this is Edward. Watched him grow up. Say hello.”
Lucy stammered a greeting and fled. Edward was lovely. And there she waspale, gaunt after illness, hair a mess, the hospital gown hanging off her like a sack.
He stayed with Edith a long while. Lucy pretended to read, sensing his glances, her face burning. When he left, he hugged Edith, then hesitated by Lucys bed.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Get well. Ill come again.”
Gone before she could reply. He returned the next day, leaving juice by her bed. Edith slept through his visit, so he left tearfully, asking Lucy to pass on his regards.
Edith woke at dusk, refusing supper. Lucy held her hand.
“Listen close, love,” Edith whispered. “Edwards a solicitor. Last visit, I had him draw up the deedsfor you. Took your ID from the drawer; forgive me. Live in my house. Its no palace, but its yours. Just promiselook after the boys.”
Lucy froze.
“Speak, Lucy! Only three leftTommy, Billy, and Danny. Need watching, so the streets dont take them like your brother. You said so yourself. Promise?”
Lucy broke down.
“I wont abandon them, Auntie Edith. Ill watch over them. Juststay a little longer.”
But Edith was already asleep, a faint smile on her worn face.
Edward collected Lucy when she was discharged, two days after Ediths passing. They buried her together, then sorted the paperwork. Soon, Lucy moved into the househers now, by some miracle.
But none of the boys came. Edward visited often, though, and at her request, brought them one evening.
After that, they became regulars. How could she keep her promise while working all day? Still, they spent evenings together, especially during damp autumn nights. She brought them pancakes from the canteensometimes cheese-filled, sometimes meat. They ate hungrily, watched telly, played Monopoly, then dashed home, buzzing with joy. All lived close by.
Edward dropped in sometimes, having helped Lucy arrange the house taxesmodest, thankfully. Her gratitude bloomed quietly into affection, though he didnt yet return it. Just a friend, for now.
Oddly, Dannys father came toonot to shout, as he had at Edith, but to thank her for minding his son.
“Dont spoil him, mind. Dont let him take advantage,” he said sternly, but not unkindly.
***
This was her new life. A home of her own, a different world. Daisy married Pete; they visited once, bringing a friend, but Lucy barely noticed the stranger. Her heart was elsewhereunrequited, but hopeful.
And she remembered Edith. Every corner of the warm house whispered of her.
How Lucy longed to be even a little like her. So she kept the womans memory brightthis kind, utterly ordinary woman whod left her not just a house, but a legacy of kindness. One Lucy now ached to pass on.
