Because Jenn said she liked it
So I was looking through my little file of short/unfinished stories and thought this one wasn't too terrible. When Jenn and Dan were here visiting, she mentioned that she liked reading them so to the rest of you who find it dull, blame Jenn...buck passed.
This is pretty rough, although I like some of my descriptions a lot, and the story is more similar to a short story called "The Dream Child" by Lucy Maude Montgomery than I'd like it to be. It's not the same story, in fact it's quite different, it just has a similar theme. It wasn't intended to be a short story but I like how and where it ends and so have no desire to explore these people any further. I think the final line is clever, but I'm somewhat biased.
There is no family news, or pictures, or anecdotes from Josh sprinkled in here so if that's all you came for, you can stop reading here...or you can read on...I won't stop you.
The wind was howling, a long low sound that filled the soul with despair. The morning had come early. A green lonely light behind somber clouds, it dawned almost at the same moment that Lydia met her firstborn child.
It was clear from the child’s weak breath that she would not live. She had come to early to begin with, she still had almost nine weeks to her appointed arrival. The nurse, taking the wee maid in her hands, suppressed her amazement that the baby was even alive. She fit quite snugly in the nurse’s calloused palm and breathed small rasping breaths while taking in the world with silver eyes. Lydia asked to see her, her request barely a whisper after the night’s trial. At first the wise old nurse was reluctant, but the gentleman of the manor, David Haywood, nodded mutely and turned away to spare himself the pain. The nurse swaddled the tiny girl and laid the bundle on Lydia’s breast.
Lydia still held in her mind the mother’s dream of a perfect babe and through her dreams did not see the frailty before her - she saw only strength illuminated in the all-knowing eyes that met her own. The child was tiny, no more than a loaf of bread that did not fully rise. The baby’s skin was pearlescent and paper thin, Lydia could see the tiny blue veins pumping life through the small body. Her face was perfectly formed, long lashes and pink lips that made no sound. Her head was capped with a swirl of golden hair, her hands were clenched like tiny rosebuds beneath her chin. No dimples or chubby cheeks, no wailing for the first drink of mother’s milk. Lydia laid quietly with the child tucked against her, and sang the first sweet lullaby of motherhood.
To everyone but Lydia it was painfully clear that the child could not last through the day, lest by some strange miracle. The room was still and silent, the people unable the break the spell cast by the first moments of an angel’s life. All therein, the nurse and midwife, the upstairs maid, and David, watched as Lydia sang quietly and drifted off to sleep. The child looked slowly about the room and for a moment that strange gaze fell on David, her father. He gave a startled gasp and went as if to snatch her up, but then instead went quickly from the room with his hands covering his face. The nurse was unsure now what to do and wavered between following David and tending to Lydia. Conflicted, she turned to take the child from it’s mother but the midwife stopped her short.
"No, Nannette, let the poor dear have what little time there is with her child. I’ll keep watch, you go find Master David. His wounds need more tending for now."
"Right, right. Oh, Hannah! That we should have to see this sadness! I almost cannot bear it! Imagine poor Master David, at least Miss Lydia seems unaware for now," and wringing her hands in her apron, the nurse followed David’s fading footsteps.
A doctor came from town and left soon after, shaking his gray head. David, watching with only a shadow of hope, let fall a few lonely tears as the doctor’s carriage pulled away. Wiping his face roughly, he went back to Lydia who was now awake but still in a dream state.
"Isn’t Dr. Mullin so kind? He said she was just beautiful. What shall we name her, David? I hadn’t even begun to think of a name for her yet," Lydia’s voice so full of promise was like a blade to his heart.
He tried to smile, for he was unwilling to bring her dread just yet. "How about Hope?" he asked, the weariness of the game seeping into his voice.
"Faith seems more appropriate, don’t you think David? We had faith she would come safely and here she is. I am surprised she’s not hungry yet, but Nannette says she may not be for some time. She isn’t like her father then, is she?" Lydia laughed, sweet and full. David wanted to snatch the sound and lock it away for the painful times ahead.
"No," he replied, choking on his words, "she is the image of her mother."
Lydia smiled, pleased, and laid a light kiss on the parchment cheek. "She’s so small, but I suppose she’ll grow like any other child. Soon she’ll be all chubby knees and fat cheeks. Have we decided on Faith then?"
David nodded, unable to reply.
"Won’t you hold her, Father dear?" Lydia offered up the small bundle.
David could not turn away now, so he took the sleeping child tenderly from her mother. He could not hold back his emotions now and felt tears spilling onto his cheeks. She was so small in his arms, he hardly felt her at all. She yawned and opened her gleaming eyes. She blinked slowly and seemed to be taking him in. He kissed her cheek and drank in the smell of her hair. He held her close, feeling her steady breathing and let himself believe, just for a moment, that she would be his for more than one sweet day. Then, unable to draw out the pain any longer, he returned the girl to her mother and went quickly from the room.
Faith passed into the shadows just as the afternoon sun shone its brightest. At first, though she could feel that the child was no longer breathing, Lydia refused to let her go. She held the small, cold babe, rocking and signing a broken lullaby. As night crept through the manor, so too the realization came to Lydia that her child was lost to the mortal world. Eventually Lydia laid the child next to her on the bed and Hannah came quickly to take Faith from the room.
"It’s unnatural, how she sits so quietly," said Nannette.
"Each grieves in their own way. Nannette, go and get some hot soup. Maybe we can get the mistress to eat now," replied Oscar, the head butler.
At first Lydia refused the soup, but ate when David came to persuade her. Lydia would not speak, however, and recoiled as if burned when David tried to hold her. As the hours passed, quiet and dark, she made no move to leave the bed, she made no sound, and she would not sleep. David called the upstairs maid to remove the cradle that Faith never used and at last Lydia spoke.
"No!" she cried, springing from the bed. "Don’t touch it, don’t touch it."
"Ma’am - Master David asked me to-..."
"It’s all right, Jane, leave it," David said. "We won’t move it Lydia." He led her to the bed where she sat and stared at the cradle with wide eyes.
The days passed and Lydia made no move to leave her room. She still barely spoke, did not ask for food but ate it when given, and refused to allow David to share her bed. David, too, began to fall into despair. His business was neglected, and if not for the faithful Oscar the house would have also. The servants felt the effect keenly. David and Lydia had always managed their home with an easy hand, and the whole staff missed Lydia’s cheerful smile and David’s friendly encouragement. After almost a month, Oscar was approached by the scullery maid, Genevieve.
"I’m sorry sir, I know it is not my place to speak with you about this, but I felt I must," she began timidly.
"It alright, Genevieve, Nannette tells me you have an idea how to help Mistress Lydia. What is it?"
"Well, sir, it may seem quite strange, but it may work. My sister lives in town and just 2 weeks ago she had a girl child. And, well sir, she has no husband. She has not been as fortunate as I, she has no position. She won’t be able to take care of this child on her own. I’ve helped her all I can but, its quite hopeless."
"You aren’t suggesting that a charity case would help, I hope? That child would only be a reminder of what has been lost."
"No, sir, you’ve got the wrong idea. My sister - she would give her child to the mistress. Like a replacement, sir, for the little girl that’s been lost."
Oscar, at first, felt a sense of horror. "You can’t be serious."
"But, you see, it’s a child that the mistress wants. She stares at the cradle for hours, she wakes in the night as if she’s heard a child crying. I’m not saying that we’d trick her, she’d know the child was not her own. Maybe we could try it though."
Beneath the doubt, Oscar felt a twinge of hope, though he was careful not to show too much. "And what of your sister. Won’t she want her child?"
"Any child would be lucky to leave such a life behind. My sister knows that too well, sir."
"So you’ve spoken to her about this plan?"
"It was she who came to me. Last week, when I went into town with Cook. She’s almost as desperate as the mistress."
"I’ll have to think on it, Genevieve."
"I hope sir, you don’t think poorly of me for coming to you. I know it’s not my place."
"No, Genevieve. I think you are very kind, and your sister. I’ll speak to the Master. Now, go back to your work."
For a few days, Oscar tried to discard such a strange plan from his mind, but it pressed on him heavily. Finally, one day he approached David as he sat listless in his study.
"Sir? May I have a moment?"
"Yes, Oscar, please sit down."
"First, I might remind you that I have been your friend since we were boys, for this may seem a very strange conversation."
"We’ll, you’ve peaked my curiosity, good man. What is it? I haven’t a mind for much lately."
"Well, that’s what I’ve come to you about sir. Genevieve has come to me with a strange proposition."
"The kitchen maid?"
"Yes, she’s a good girl. Her sister - I don’t know how to put this delicately."
"Don’t worry, Oscar, there’s not much I can’t stomach these days."
"Her sister in town has a small child, not even a month old. A girl."
"The whole world seems full of babies, and still it lacks the one that’s most important to me," David said softly.
"Well, sir, this baby hasn’t a hope in the world, for her mother can’t take care of her. She has no husband, no position. She has - uh - well, she’s offered her to Mistress Lydia."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She wants to give her child to you - as a sort of replacement for your own."
"Are you mad?! What could possibly replace our own child?!"
"Now, sir, I told you it was a strange conversation. Just think for a moment. The mistress is looking for a purpose in her days, now that she’s lost that little child she’s seems quite lost herself. It wouldn’t be a trick, she would know it wasn’t her own girl. But maybe, just maybe, the mistress just needs a baby to love so she can heal."
"Indeed! I can’t believe you’ve come to me with such a plan. And what of this girl’s mother!? I suppose she wants money, or something? And will she be here to remind us that the baby is not our own?"
"Please, sir, we haven’t discussed money or the like. Maybe we could just let the mistress see the child and if it doesn’t go well, then we’ll hurry her off."
"I can’t even think of this right now. I know you’ve got good intentions, Oscar but - but...Leave me alone so I can think straight."
"Yes, sir."
At first, David discarded the idea from his mind. But, in the quiet moments the idea seemed to come flooding back into his mind like a tidal wave. Eventually, he called Oscar to him again and asked him to send for the woman and her unfortunate child.
They came in the early evening, the dusk just dusting the horizon with a rosy hue. The carriage was brought to the kitchen entrance were Oscar met it and led the occupants up the back stairs and into David’s office.
"Sir? Are you free?" he asked, knocking gently.
"Come, Oscar."
"Sir, this is Miss Elizabeth. And her daughter."
The baby was sleeping, dark lashes spread like fans on her pale cheeks. She had a cap of dark hair, almost blue in the fading light. She barely stirred when the blanket was pulled back, her blanket and clothes were dirty, as were her tiny hands balled up against her chest.
At first David reached for her, then changed his mind and pulled the blanket back up over her face. "Strange circumstances have brought us together, Elizabeth."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, her eyes downcast.
"For heaven’s sake, if you’re going to give me your child, you must call me David," he said roughly. He lifted her chin to examine her face. "You must have some feelings about this, Elizabeth. What do you hope to gain here?"
"Sir, I only want what’s best for the girl. I can’t take care of her, and an orphanage - well, sir, she can’t go there. I heard about your wife from my sister, and my heart was breaking. Here I have a girl I can’t keep, and she has a girl she lost -. I don’t want nothing, sir, except a home for the girl."
"Only the girl? What of you? Where will you go? Won’t you want to see the baby now and again."
"I have nowhere to go, sir, except back to keeping house where I can."
"Please call me David."
"I don’t suppose I can, sir."
"Would you rather come here?"
"Your house is very fine, sir, but don’t you think it would be strange for - for your wife?"
"Yes. But, I don’t understand. You lose so much - what do you gain in return?"
"If the girl - "
"Doesn’t she have a name?"
"She can’t be mine to keep, so I won’t expect you to keep the name I gave her."
"What of her father, she must have one? Won’t he be wondering about this child? When he finds she’s here, won’t he come here looking for, for - payment ?"
"Not likely sir, he died just before I found out she was coming. He was a sailor by trade."
"So then, what do you gain, Elizabeth, having already lost so much?"
"If she can have a life that’s better than scrubbing floors and hot kitchens - well, that’ll be more than I can give her on my own."
"That is very unselfish."
"No, sir, maybe it is selfish. I won’t have to worry then, about the life she’ll have."
"I don’t think you won’t worry, Elizabeth. I’m afraid to try this - this experiment, I don’t know what Lydia will do or say. Will you come up to the room?"
"Yes, sir. But, maybe you should hold her sir?"
"Yes, but I suppose first she must have a bath and some clean clothes," David went to take the sleeping child from her mother’s arm but Elizabeth stepped away.
"Please, sir, if she’s going to go from me now, take her as she is. If your wife can love her poor and dirty then I’ll feel better about it."
"I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right," David felt strange taking the sleeping, dirty child. But stranger to him still, he felt hopeful.
For Elizabeth it was a strange journey up the stairs. She had been a scullery maid in much poorer circumstances and had only seen the kitchen’s ashen floor for the most part of her life. Willow Glade was a grand manor, with polished banisters and long dead ancestors that stared grimly from their portraits. Elizabeth had always gone through back stairs and servant’s quarters, so the glimpses of grand rooms quite thrilled her simple soul. She clenched her hands tightly, thinking of her child’s footsteps echoing along these corridors, of servants bringing her afternoon tea, of parties and dancing, food and fine clothes. Elizabeth was thinking too of a long separation, of years when she would not see her child’s face change into a woman’s. The long walk to Lydia’s chamber was bittersweet for Elizabeth.
Finally they came to the door, which was open. Elizabeth could see Lydia standing over the empty cradle, rocking it gently. The darkness danced across her face, unable to shadow the sadness it found there. For a moment, Elizabeth’s heart stood still, knowing that she too would know something of the pain she saw.
"Lydia," David said softly. Lydia turned to him as if waking from a dream. She said nothing, she made no move to greet him. Her eyes went instantly to Elizabeth behind him. "Lydia, my dear. I have someone to meet you."
"Is that - is that my child?" Lydia’s voice was a strangled breath, her eyes were drawn hungrily to the bundle in his arms.
"No -" David began but Elizabeth stepped ahead with courage she did not fully feel.
"Yes, ma’am," she said. "She’s yours and mine."
Lydia came with halting steps and stood in front of Elizabeth. She searched Elizabeth’s face for a moment then turned to David. She pulled away the dirty blanket to reveal the sleeping child and inhaled sharply.
"I knew she would come," Lydia said, and turned again to Elizabeth. "Have you brought her to me, dear one?"
"Yes," Elizabeth’s voice held firm.
"She is your child, then?"
"Yes," and now the mother’s voice broke. "Yours now too."
"What is her name?"
"For your choosing, ma’am." Elizabeth was clutching the blanket around the girl tightly now, knowing these were their last moments.
"What do you call her?" Lydia asked, her voice very soft.
"Morgan," was the strangle reply. "It was her father’s name."
Lydia turned to David, whose tears ran freely down his haggard face.
"David, dear, what shall we call this wee babe?"
"Morgan," David said and Lydia smiled for the first time since Faith left her.
This is pretty rough, although I like some of my descriptions a lot, and the story is more similar to a short story called "The Dream Child" by Lucy Maude Montgomery than I'd like it to be. It's not the same story, in fact it's quite different, it just has a similar theme. It wasn't intended to be a short story but I like how and where it ends and so have no desire to explore these people any further. I think the final line is clever, but I'm somewhat biased.
There is no family news, or pictures, or anecdotes from Josh sprinkled in here so if that's all you came for, you can stop reading here...or you can read on...I won't stop you.
---
The wind was howling, a long low sound that filled the soul with despair. The morning had come early. A green lonely light behind somber clouds, it dawned almost at the same moment that Lydia met her firstborn child.
It was clear from the child’s weak breath that she would not live. She had come to early to begin with, she still had almost nine weeks to her appointed arrival. The nurse, taking the wee maid in her hands, suppressed her amazement that the baby was even alive. She fit quite snugly in the nurse’s calloused palm and breathed small rasping breaths while taking in the world with silver eyes. Lydia asked to see her, her request barely a whisper after the night’s trial. At first the wise old nurse was reluctant, but the gentleman of the manor, David Haywood, nodded mutely and turned away to spare himself the pain. The nurse swaddled the tiny girl and laid the bundle on Lydia’s breast.
Lydia still held in her mind the mother’s dream of a perfect babe and through her dreams did not see the frailty before her - she saw only strength illuminated in the all-knowing eyes that met her own. The child was tiny, no more than a loaf of bread that did not fully rise. The baby’s skin was pearlescent and paper thin, Lydia could see the tiny blue veins pumping life through the small body. Her face was perfectly formed, long lashes and pink lips that made no sound. Her head was capped with a swirl of golden hair, her hands were clenched like tiny rosebuds beneath her chin. No dimples or chubby cheeks, no wailing for the first drink of mother’s milk. Lydia laid quietly with the child tucked against her, and sang the first sweet lullaby of motherhood.
To everyone but Lydia it was painfully clear that the child could not last through the day, lest by some strange miracle. The room was still and silent, the people unable the break the spell cast by the first moments of an angel’s life. All therein, the nurse and midwife, the upstairs maid, and David, watched as Lydia sang quietly and drifted off to sleep. The child looked slowly about the room and for a moment that strange gaze fell on David, her father. He gave a startled gasp and went as if to snatch her up, but then instead went quickly from the room with his hands covering his face. The nurse was unsure now what to do and wavered between following David and tending to Lydia. Conflicted, she turned to take the child from it’s mother but the midwife stopped her short.
"No, Nannette, let the poor dear have what little time there is with her child. I’ll keep watch, you go find Master David. His wounds need more tending for now."
"Right, right. Oh, Hannah! That we should have to see this sadness! I almost cannot bear it! Imagine poor Master David, at least Miss Lydia seems unaware for now," and wringing her hands in her apron, the nurse followed David’s fading footsteps.
A doctor came from town and left soon after, shaking his gray head. David, watching with only a shadow of hope, let fall a few lonely tears as the doctor’s carriage pulled away. Wiping his face roughly, he went back to Lydia who was now awake but still in a dream state.
"Isn’t Dr. Mullin so kind? He said she was just beautiful. What shall we name her, David? I hadn’t even begun to think of a name for her yet," Lydia’s voice so full of promise was like a blade to his heart.
He tried to smile, for he was unwilling to bring her dread just yet. "How about Hope?" he asked, the weariness of the game seeping into his voice.
"Faith seems more appropriate, don’t you think David? We had faith she would come safely and here she is. I am surprised she’s not hungry yet, but Nannette says she may not be for some time. She isn’t like her father then, is she?" Lydia laughed, sweet and full. David wanted to snatch the sound and lock it away for the painful times ahead.
"No," he replied, choking on his words, "she is the image of her mother."
Lydia smiled, pleased, and laid a light kiss on the parchment cheek. "She’s so small, but I suppose she’ll grow like any other child. Soon she’ll be all chubby knees and fat cheeks. Have we decided on Faith then?"
David nodded, unable to reply.
"Won’t you hold her, Father dear?" Lydia offered up the small bundle.
David could not turn away now, so he took the sleeping child tenderly from her mother. He could not hold back his emotions now and felt tears spilling onto his cheeks. She was so small in his arms, he hardly felt her at all. She yawned and opened her gleaming eyes. She blinked slowly and seemed to be taking him in. He kissed her cheek and drank in the smell of her hair. He held her close, feeling her steady breathing and let himself believe, just for a moment, that she would be his for more than one sweet day. Then, unable to draw out the pain any longer, he returned the girl to her mother and went quickly from the room.
Faith passed into the shadows just as the afternoon sun shone its brightest. At first, though she could feel that the child was no longer breathing, Lydia refused to let her go. She held the small, cold babe, rocking and signing a broken lullaby. As night crept through the manor, so too the realization came to Lydia that her child was lost to the mortal world. Eventually Lydia laid the child next to her on the bed and Hannah came quickly to take Faith from the room.
"It’s unnatural, how she sits so quietly," said Nannette.
"Each grieves in their own way. Nannette, go and get some hot soup. Maybe we can get the mistress to eat now," replied Oscar, the head butler.
At first Lydia refused the soup, but ate when David came to persuade her. Lydia would not speak, however, and recoiled as if burned when David tried to hold her. As the hours passed, quiet and dark, she made no move to leave the bed, she made no sound, and she would not sleep. David called the upstairs maid to remove the cradle that Faith never used and at last Lydia spoke.
"No!" she cried, springing from the bed. "Don’t touch it, don’t touch it."
"Ma’am - Master David asked me to-..."
"It’s all right, Jane, leave it," David said. "We won’t move it Lydia." He led her to the bed where she sat and stared at the cradle with wide eyes.
The days passed and Lydia made no move to leave her room. She still barely spoke, did not ask for food but ate it when given, and refused to allow David to share her bed. David, too, began to fall into despair. His business was neglected, and if not for the faithful Oscar the house would have also. The servants felt the effect keenly. David and Lydia had always managed their home with an easy hand, and the whole staff missed Lydia’s cheerful smile and David’s friendly encouragement. After almost a month, Oscar was approached by the scullery maid, Genevieve.
"I’m sorry sir, I know it is not my place to speak with you about this, but I felt I must," she began timidly.
"It alright, Genevieve, Nannette tells me you have an idea how to help Mistress Lydia. What is it?"
"Well, sir, it may seem quite strange, but it may work. My sister lives in town and just 2 weeks ago she had a girl child. And, well sir, she has no husband. She has not been as fortunate as I, she has no position. She won’t be able to take care of this child on her own. I’ve helped her all I can but, its quite hopeless."
"You aren’t suggesting that a charity case would help, I hope? That child would only be a reminder of what has been lost."
"No, sir, you’ve got the wrong idea. My sister - she would give her child to the mistress. Like a replacement, sir, for the little girl that’s been lost."
Oscar, at first, felt a sense of horror. "You can’t be serious."
"But, you see, it’s a child that the mistress wants. She stares at the cradle for hours, she wakes in the night as if she’s heard a child crying. I’m not saying that we’d trick her, she’d know the child was not her own. Maybe we could try it though."
Beneath the doubt, Oscar felt a twinge of hope, though he was careful not to show too much. "And what of your sister. Won’t she want her child?"
"Any child would be lucky to leave such a life behind. My sister knows that too well, sir."
"So you’ve spoken to her about this plan?"
"It was she who came to me. Last week, when I went into town with Cook. She’s almost as desperate as the mistress."
"I’ll have to think on it, Genevieve."
"I hope sir, you don’t think poorly of me for coming to you. I know it’s not my place."
"No, Genevieve. I think you are very kind, and your sister. I’ll speak to the Master. Now, go back to your work."
For a few days, Oscar tried to discard such a strange plan from his mind, but it pressed on him heavily. Finally, one day he approached David as he sat listless in his study.
"Sir? May I have a moment?"
"Yes, Oscar, please sit down."
"First, I might remind you that I have been your friend since we were boys, for this may seem a very strange conversation."
"We’ll, you’ve peaked my curiosity, good man. What is it? I haven’t a mind for much lately."
"Well, that’s what I’ve come to you about sir. Genevieve has come to me with a strange proposition."
"The kitchen maid?"
"Yes, she’s a good girl. Her sister - I don’t know how to put this delicately."
"Don’t worry, Oscar, there’s not much I can’t stomach these days."
"Her sister in town has a small child, not even a month old. A girl."
"The whole world seems full of babies, and still it lacks the one that’s most important to me," David said softly.
"Well, sir, this baby hasn’t a hope in the world, for her mother can’t take care of her. She has no husband, no position. She has - uh - well, she’s offered her to Mistress Lydia."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She wants to give her child to you - as a sort of replacement for your own."
"Are you mad?! What could possibly replace our own child?!"
"Now, sir, I told you it was a strange conversation. Just think for a moment. The mistress is looking for a purpose in her days, now that she’s lost that little child she’s seems quite lost herself. It wouldn’t be a trick, she would know it wasn’t her own girl. But maybe, just maybe, the mistress just needs a baby to love so she can heal."
"Indeed! I can’t believe you’ve come to me with such a plan. And what of this girl’s mother!? I suppose she wants money, or something? And will she be here to remind us that the baby is not our own?"
"Please, sir, we haven’t discussed money or the like. Maybe we could just let the mistress see the child and if it doesn’t go well, then we’ll hurry her off."
"I can’t even think of this right now. I know you’ve got good intentions, Oscar but - but...Leave me alone so I can think straight."
"Yes, sir."
At first, David discarded the idea from his mind. But, in the quiet moments the idea seemed to come flooding back into his mind like a tidal wave. Eventually, he called Oscar to him again and asked him to send for the woman and her unfortunate child.
They came in the early evening, the dusk just dusting the horizon with a rosy hue. The carriage was brought to the kitchen entrance were Oscar met it and led the occupants up the back stairs and into David’s office.
"Sir? Are you free?" he asked, knocking gently.
"Come, Oscar."
"Sir, this is Miss Elizabeth. And her daughter."
The baby was sleeping, dark lashes spread like fans on her pale cheeks. She had a cap of dark hair, almost blue in the fading light. She barely stirred when the blanket was pulled back, her blanket and clothes were dirty, as were her tiny hands balled up against her chest.
At first David reached for her, then changed his mind and pulled the blanket back up over her face. "Strange circumstances have brought us together, Elizabeth."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, her eyes downcast.
"For heaven’s sake, if you’re going to give me your child, you must call me David," he said roughly. He lifted her chin to examine her face. "You must have some feelings about this, Elizabeth. What do you hope to gain here?"
"Sir, I only want what’s best for the girl. I can’t take care of her, and an orphanage - well, sir, she can’t go there. I heard about your wife from my sister, and my heart was breaking. Here I have a girl I can’t keep, and she has a girl she lost -. I don’t want nothing, sir, except a home for the girl."
"Only the girl? What of you? Where will you go? Won’t you want to see the baby now and again."
"I have nowhere to go, sir, except back to keeping house where I can."
"Please call me David."
"I don’t suppose I can, sir."
"Would you rather come here?"
"Your house is very fine, sir, but don’t you think it would be strange for - for your wife?"
"Yes. But, I don’t understand. You lose so much - what do you gain in return?"
"If the girl - "
"Doesn’t she have a name?"
"She can’t be mine to keep, so I won’t expect you to keep the name I gave her."
"What of her father, she must have one? Won’t he be wondering about this child? When he finds she’s here, won’t he come here looking for, for - payment ?"
"Not likely sir, he died just before I found out she was coming. He was a sailor by trade."
"So then, what do you gain, Elizabeth, having already lost so much?"
"If she can have a life that’s better than scrubbing floors and hot kitchens - well, that’ll be more than I can give her on my own."
"That is very unselfish."
"No, sir, maybe it is selfish. I won’t have to worry then, about the life she’ll have."
"I don’t think you won’t worry, Elizabeth. I’m afraid to try this - this experiment, I don’t know what Lydia will do or say. Will you come up to the room?"
"Yes, sir. But, maybe you should hold her sir?"
"Yes, but I suppose first she must have a bath and some clean clothes," David went to take the sleeping child from her mother’s arm but Elizabeth stepped away.
"Please, sir, if she’s going to go from me now, take her as she is. If your wife can love her poor and dirty then I’ll feel better about it."
"I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right," David felt strange taking the sleeping, dirty child. But stranger to him still, he felt hopeful.
For Elizabeth it was a strange journey up the stairs. She had been a scullery maid in much poorer circumstances and had only seen the kitchen’s ashen floor for the most part of her life. Willow Glade was a grand manor, with polished banisters and long dead ancestors that stared grimly from their portraits. Elizabeth had always gone through back stairs and servant’s quarters, so the glimpses of grand rooms quite thrilled her simple soul. She clenched her hands tightly, thinking of her child’s footsteps echoing along these corridors, of servants bringing her afternoon tea, of parties and dancing, food and fine clothes. Elizabeth was thinking too of a long separation, of years when she would not see her child’s face change into a woman’s. The long walk to Lydia’s chamber was bittersweet for Elizabeth.
Finally they came to the door, which was open. Elizabeth could see Lydia standing over the empty cradle, rocking it gently. The darkness danced across her face, unable to shadow the sadness it found there. For a moment, Elizabeth’s heart stood still, knowing that she too would know something of the pain she saw.
"Lydia," David said softly. Lydia turned to him as if waking from a dream. She said nothing, she made no move to greet him. Her eyes went instantly to Elizabeth behind him. "Lydia, my dear. I have someone to meet you."
"Is that - is that my child?" Lydia’s voice was a strangled breath, her eyes were drawn hungrily to the bundle in his arms.
"No -" David began but Elizabeth stepped ahead with courage she did not fully feel.
"Yes, ma’am," she said. "She’s yours and mine."
Lydia came with halting steps and stood in front of Elizabeth. She searched Elizabeth’s face for a moment then turned to David. She pulled away the dirty blanket to reveal the sleeping child and inhaled sharply.
"I knew she would come," Lydia said, and turned again to Elizabeth. "Have you brought her to me, dear one?"
"Yes," Elizabeth’s voice held firm.
"She is your child, then?"
"Yes," and now the mother’s voice broke. "Yours now too."
"What is her name?"
"For your choosing, ma’am." Elizabeth was clutching the blanket around the girl tightly now, knowing these were their last moments.
"What do you call her?" Lydia asked, her voice very soft.
"Morgan," was the strangle reply. "It was her father’s name."
Lydia turned to David, whose tears ran freely down his haggard face.
"David, dear, what shall we call this wee babe?"
"Morgan," David said and Lydia smiled for the first time since Faith left her.
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