29
Floss
Kings Langley, England, 1954
The fire had burned to embers and the room was almost as dark as the fields outside. Elizabeth lay still, her cool face cupped in my hands. It was like a horrible dream that wouldn’t end. Evie held Elizabeth’s wrist loosely, but I knew it had been a while since she’d felt a pulse. Still I couldn’t help but feel that any second now Elizabeth’s hand would move, or her eyes would jolt open. She’d been alive a few minutes ago. She’d created a life a few minutes ago. It couldn’t end like this.
“She can’t be gone.” I looked desperately at Evie. “She can’t.”
Evie let go of Elizabeth’s wrist. “It’s been six minutes, Floss. Six minutes with no heartbeat.”
She stood and walked to the window. Outside, there was not a light to be seen. There wasn’t a sound in miles, apart from the crackle of the fire.
“One of us will have to ride to the phone box,” she said.
Her words, flat and final, pushed me over the edge.
“No. No! It’s not over.”
“It is,” Evie said simply, and I knew it was. No matter how I wanted to deny it, it was over.
“Who do we call?” I asked, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Sister Eileen? The police?”
“Both. And Bill.”
Just the sound of his name caused a physical reaction in me. My heart felt like it was being flung against my rib cage. My chest strained like an overfilled balloon.
“Damn that man. Damn him to hell!”
In the bassinet, the baby began to fuss and without a thought, I snatched her up and held her to my chest. Elizabeth lay lifeless on the bed. My friend—the striking, flame-haired beauty—was gone. So skinny and pale, with a huge boggy mound on her stomach. I wanted to bathe her, comb her hair, wrap her in a warm blanket. But this wasn’t what Elizabeth needed from me. She needed something much more important.
“What about Grace?” I asked.
Evie continued to stare out the window. “Grace?”
I looked down at the bundle in my arms. “The baby. Elizabeth said she wanted to name her after her mother.”
Evie nodded. “Well, what happens to her is for Bill to decide.”
“Like hell it is.”
Now Evie did look at me.
“I’m not handing this child over to that man, Evie. Not over my dead body.”
“What choice do we have?” When I didn’t respond, a slight crease came to Evie’s brow. “What are you suggesting, Floss?”
I wasn’t sure what I was suggesting. But a second later, I was saying, “We’ll tell him that the baby died as well.”
Evie looked me straight in the eye. “You’re talking madness. Pure madness.” But her slow, careful tone gave away her true feelings. She wasn’t so sure it was madness.
“I’ll take her, right now, on the bike.” I was talking so fast, I tripped over the words. “You’ve got the birth documents there—write my name down as the mother. I’ll leave town tonight, go to a new village, a new country if I have to. I’ll say I had her out of wedlock, or that I’m a widow. I’ll raise her as my own.”
“Floss—”
“I’ve decided. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
Evie went quiet. I returned the baby to the bassinet and with shaking arms, gathered up my things. The evaporated milk, the syringe, one diaper. I felt Evie’s eyes, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t do anything except what I needed to do. With my hands on the wool blanket that Elizabeth had knitted, I paused.
“Take it.”
The voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to Evie’s.
“Take it,” she repeated. “By the time he gets home, hopefully Bill will be far too drunk to notice it’s missing. You’ve got a long ride ahead. You’ll want to make sure she’s warm.”
Evie and I locked eyes.
“You’re right,” I said, taking the blanket. “Elizabeth told me once that he often remembers nothing from when he drinks. He probably won’t even remember that it existed.” I finished piling everything into my bag. When I looked up, Evie was staring at me. “What is it?”
“Elizabeth said that? That Bill blacks out?”
I nodded.
Evie seemed strangely contemplative. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She wandered over to her bag and pulled out some paperwork, then moved to the kitchen table. I picked Grace up out of her bassinet and went to stand beside her.
“Birth certificate,” she said, scribbling on the page. “It’s dated two weeks ago, so people don’t question why you’re out and about with a newborn.”
She seemed calm, in control. Much more than I was. She held out the page.
“What are you going to do, Evie?” I asked.
Evie’s eyes drifted over to Elizabeth, then down to the baby that was snuggled peacefully against me. “Same as you. I’m going to make sure Bill never gets his hands on that baby.”