*
It took over an hour to tell Grace everything, and while I did, she just listened, never once interrupting, flying off the handle, or dissolving into dramatic, disillusioned tears. I wished she would do that, or at least do something familiar to reassure me that she was actually still my daughter. Even though she wasn’t.
“So what did you do?” she asked. “Once you left the house?” Her words felt distant, as though they didn’t belong to her.
“I wrapped you up, wedged you in the basket of my bike and cycled faster than I ever had in my life. I reached the boardinghouse before sunrise, packed my things in the dark, and took the first train to London.”
“And then?”
“I went to my parents’ house. I told them you were born out of wedlock. They were Irish Catholic, and I knew it was about the only thing I could’ve said to get my father to cough up the money for the passage to America. An unwed daughter with a baby would’ve been a disaster. I stayed with them for two weeks, long enough to get a passport for you and me, and then they deposited me on the ship. And that was that.”
Grace was silent for a long time, perhaps longer than she’d ever been in my company. As she sat, her fingers trailed up and down her legs, dragging the fabric of her long skirt with them.
“Why didn’t Evie take the baby? Take … me.”
The question baffled me. In all these years, the idea had never occurred to me.
“I’m not sure. Evie was engaged, I suppose. She couldn’t just turn up overnight with a baby. But I was single. I was able to move far away. No one knew I’d even been at Elizabeth’s house that night. Evie was her midwife, I’d just gone as a favor to Elizabeth. I suppose it made sense.” I frowned, trying to think about it more. “It sounds strange, I suppose, but I think … in both of our minds … the second Elizabeth died, you became mine.”
There was a tiny lift in Grace. So tiny, most wouldn’t even have noticed. I liked to think it was something that only a mother would notice.
“What happened when my father got home and found his wife dead and his baby missing?”
“For a long time, I didn’t know,” I admitted. “It took me two years before I dared to write to Evie. Six weeks later, she wrote back.”
“And?”
The letter was still in the front pocket of my purse and I plucked it out. “I think this contains the answers you’re looking for, dear.”
Over the years, I’d become pretty good at knowing what my daughter was thinking. But as Grace looked from the letter to me, then back again, the skill deserted me. I watched as she opened it. Though I knew its contents by heart, I read along over her shoulder.
Dearest Floss,
After two years I had all but given up hope of hearing from you again. I was overjoyed to receive your letter, and to hear that you and Grace are healthy and well. I was also glad to hear that you’re still practicing midwifery. I wasn’t sure I’d continue myself after that night. I thought that with each new mother I’d see Elizabeth, and with each new baby, Grace. I blamed myself for Elizabeth’s death for a long time. But there’s something about what we do, isn’t there? Something about new life that helps to heal old wounds. I hope you’ve found it to be the comfort that I have these past years.
I hounded your poor mother for months after you left. The hardest part of not knowing was not being able to picture you and Grace. Were you walking along a beach somewhere? Rocking on a porch swing? Trudging through the snow? I realize, of course, that I’m not the only one with gaps in my knowledge. I’m sure you’ve wondered many times what happened after you pedaled away into the night with Grace. And as much as I am loath to revisit it, even in my memory, I believe it is necessary so all of us can finally close this chapter.
After you left, I bathed Elizabeth. I combed her hair and changed her linen. Perhaps it was silly, but after what Bill had put her through in life, I wanted her to have some dignity in death. A car pulled up just after sunup. The publican was driving Bill, and I could hear the singing from inside. I made sure my bicycle was out front, where it could be seen, then I slipped out the back door. Once Bill was inside and the car had disappeared over the hill, I cycled the two miles to the pay phone.
I told Sister Eileen that Elizabeth delivered a healthy baby girl before she died, and that I’d left her in the arms of her father. I also told her Bill was drunk and upset, and I was concerned for her welfare. Sister Eileen, Dr. Gregory, and Sergeant Lynch picked me up at that phone box fifteen minutes later. When we arrived at the house, Bill was nowhere to be seen. A search went out immediately, and he was found before breakfast, passed out, on the side of the road near Wharton’s Creek. Everyone assumed that he’d drowned the baby in his grief. I think Bill himself assumed that, as he didn’t dispute my version of events. For once, those blackouts that terrified Elizabeth served some good.
Bill was charged, but not convicted. Without a body or a witness, there wasn’t enough evidence. But everyone thought he’d done it. He had to leave town. Beating up on your wife was one thing, but drowning a baby daughter was more than a little place like Kings Langley could handle. I like to think that Bill got his dues, but who knows? The most important thing was that he didn’t get Grace.
It’s funny, I’ve probably watched over a hundred women become mothers over the years. But you should know that none stand out as much as the moment I watched you become one. The way you stared at her? The way you instinctively held her to your heart? Perhaps it’s an odd thing to say, but … it almost feels like she was yours all along.
Thinking of you both always,
Your friend,
Evie
“Is he—” Grace’s voice caught, but she cleared her throat and tried again. “—is Bill still alive?”
“No, dear. Evie wrote a few years ago to tell me he’d passed away.”
Grace nodded. Her face was dry. Blank. I could just about handle any emotion from her—and I’d seen many over the years—but no emotion was another story.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
There were several answers. I worried for her safety. I didn’t want her near him. I feared the legal consequences of what I’d done. But none of them were the truth. “I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t think of me as your mother anymore.”
I felt foolish enough just saying it, but waiting for her to reassure me felt more foolish. You’re my mother, I wanted her to say. You’ll always be my mother. But she didn’t reassure me. She didn’t say anything. I wanted to hang my head, to cover my face with my hands. But I forced myself to hold her gaze. This wasn’t about my need to be validated as a mother. It was about Grace.
“Am I … like him?” she asked. “Bill?”
“No. You’re like Elizabeth.” I forced myself to say the words. “You’re very much like your mother.”
“I am?”
I nodded. “In looks and in personality. Elizabeth was great fun. Loving. Adventurous. A midwife too. She was the one who gave you and Neva your beautiful hair color.”
Grace glanced up abruptly, catching her reflection in the window. She turned her head from side to side. It was almost as if she was seeing herself for the first time.
Her lips upturned slightly. Not a smile exactly. But not that lost, empty look I’d seen on her face a moment earlier. It made me wonder if Lil was right. Perhaps it wasn’t the lack of a father that had damaged Grace. Perhaps it had been the secret all along.