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Contents
The
Birth Mother Prologue
1. Lizzie
2. Ruby
3. Lizzie
4. Ruby 5. Lizzie
6. Before 7. Ruby
8. Lizzie
9. Ruby
10. Lizzie
11. Ruby
12. Lizzie
13. Ruby
14. Before 15. Lizzie
16. Ruby
17. Lizzie
18. Ruby
19. Lizzie
20. Ruby
21. Lizzie
22. Before…
23. Ruby
24. Lizzie
25. Ruby
26. Lizzie
27. Ruby
28. Lizzie
29. Ruby
30. Before…
31. Lizzie
32. Lizzie
About the Author
Dedication
Formydaughter,whoinspireseverythingIdo.
Andformydog,whofartsinhersleep.
The Birth Mother
by AJ Carter
All books by this author are just 0.99. Complete your collection here: https://ajcarterbooks.com/books
Prologue
LET me tell you about how my daughter went missing.
I’ll spare you the superfluous details – the usual waste of words about letting out breaths I didn’t know I’d been holding or even throwing my unwashed hair into a ponytail. This isn’t about exhalation or hairstyles at all.
It’s about the monster who came to stay. And everything she took from me.
Chapter 1 Lizzie
THE HORN MAKES me jump out of my skin, instantly yanking me from my exhausted daydream. My hand shoots up in apology while I spin the wheel and pull the car over to the side of the road. The driver behind – a woman I recognise from previous school pickups – gives a scolding glare as she drives past. Normally, that might bother me.
But I’m just excited to see my little girl.
She comes in like a hurricane. ‘Hurricane Amy’ is what we call her. She’s everything you can expect from a blonde-haired, blueeyed five-year-old with a cheeky grin and buckets of energy. The car immediately lights up with joy as she climbs into the back seat, clips in her seat belt, and pulls the door shut.
‘Ready?’ I ask, waiting for the signal.
‘Go!’ Amy screams, giggling as if she’s just robbed a bank and I’m her getaway driver.
Unfortunately, we don’t get very far. The traffic has built up ahead of us, taking up the whole narrow street. The woman who passed me a minute ago is leaning on her horn again, as if expecting everyone to turn on the FLY function on their cars and DeLorean their way out of there. It’s a dead effort. She’s as stuck as the rest of us.
‘The police are coming for us!’ Amy yells with a smile. I watch her in the mirror, leaning against the restraint of her seat belt while she tries to peer over the back seat and through the rear window. ‘Step on it, buddy!’
I can’t help but laugh. Although it’s a mystery as to where she got the idea for this little game, it’s still endearing and fun. As always, she manages to make me ignore my fatigue and join in. Playing with my little girl is the best part of any day.
‘We’re stuck in the mud,’ I yell back. ‘Looks like we’re going to jail!’
‘Oh, no!’
Suddenly, we both burst into a fit of laughter. Amy’s high-pitched chuckle makes her sound like a chipmunk, and my eyes are watering from both laughter and intense love. I always wanted to have a kid, and no matter how hard things sometimes get, it’s the best thing ever.
Amy pulls the notebook out of her backpack and starts drafting an escape plan. Meanwhile, the traffic starts to move, albeit slowly. I lift off the clutch, and we roll forward just a few more feet. Amy slinks back in her seat, blowing out a breath as if her school day has just caught up with her. It reminds me of how badly I need to lie down for a bit.
As if that’s an option.
The next time a car inches forward, movement catches my eye. I turn my head as an instant reaction, expecting to see someone in the parked car beside me. What I quickly realise is that nobody is insidethe car, but an eerie figure is standing on the opposite side of it.
And they’re staring right at us.
My entire body floods with cold. I look away, shivering with discomfort, then turn back to look again. This time, the figure is gone from the window, disappearing into the flood of parents who are picking up their kids. When another car honks behind me, I’m torn out of the moment and forced onward through the slow crawl of traffic.
Did I imagine that, I wonder? Was there really someone watching us, or are the late nights and early mornings finally taking their toll on me? Whether or not it was my imagination, there’s one thing about the last few seconds that’s undeniable.
I feel vulnerable… and instantly defensive.
AS IS SOMETIMES THE CASE, there’s nowhere to park on our own street. The closest spot I can find is halfway down the road, where I perform the best parallel parking of my entire life as a bead of sweat drips down my temple. It doesn’t bother me – the cold October weather will soon bring the chill back.
‘Good job, Mummy,’ Amy cheers from the back seat.
‘Thanks, Little Goof.’
‘Yuk. I hate it when you call me that.’
‘Do you know whywe call you it?’
‘Because I’m little.’
‘That’s right. And?’
‘Because I’m goofy.’
‘Yes.’ I nod approvingly, meeting her proud gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Approximately one hundred per cent of the time. Now, get your bag and let’s go.’
Amy laughs once again as she opens the door and springs out. I follow in her overly excited footsteps, locking the car and trudging behind her all the way to the house. She’s only a few feet ahead, but I ask her to hang back a little. Amy’s a good kid, and she usually listens, but this time, she runs ahead as if it’s some kind of race.
She doesn’t stop until she sees him.
I stop, too, quickly assessing my options. Ed is a lovely man who’s lived next door to us for years. Here’s everything I know about him: he’s lived in Longwell Green for most of his life with the woman he married in the 1950s; she died of cancer ten years ago, and now he’s very lonely; he’s a busybody; he likes to travel but refuses to do it alone, which means he doesn’t go anywhere; he’s a busybody; everybody avoids talking to him because his conversations never end. Also, in case I didn’t mention it before… he’s a busybody.
‘Location obstructed. Over,’ Amy says into her palm as if it’s a radio. She always wanted to be a police officer, but it’s one of the many dream jobs she constantly cycles through. It’s likely to be a nurse or a pop star next week.
I raise my hand and mouth into it, ‘Acknowledged. Suggest alternative path. Over.’
‘Negative. Engaging target.’
Amy runs on before I can stop her, fanning her hands around to catch Ed’s attention. It doesn’t take long for him to spot her – it seems all he was doing was walking up and down the street anyway, so now that he’s found somebody to talk to, the damage is as good as done.
I catch up to where they’re standing, effectively blocking the path to my own front door. Sometimes I wish my husband wouldn’t work away from home for so long. He’s excellent at getting rid of Ed. Or, at the very least, taking the heat so I can get inside and start the dinner.
‘Are you ready for Halloween?’ Ed asks, mostly to Amy.
‘Not quite,’ I intercept. ‘Plenty of decorations to go up and not enough time.’
‘It never was my favourite time of year. All those ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night.’ Ed waves his fingers like writhing worms and pulls a face at Amy, who giggles politely. He turns from her, then raises his dusty eyebrows up the street. ‘Where did you have to park today?’
‘Just up the road.’
‘It’s not right, you know. I should talk to the council about this.’
‘If you must.’ I smile softly and try to squeeze past, encouraging Amy as I go. She snatches the keys from my hand, slides through the gap easily, then says goodbye to Ed. As soon as she’s through the front door, I use her as an excuse to follow suit. ‘I should—’
‘Now that she’s gone…’ Ed leans in and lowers his voice. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman.’
‘What woman?’
‘That was precisely to be my next question.’ He raises a liverspotted hand to brush some thinning, grey hair away from his face. The autumn wind stubbornly brushes it back within two seconds. ‘I’ve seen her a lot lately, walking up and down the street, slowing down every time she passes your house. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Amy because it might scare her, but you ought to be careful. It looked very suspicious.’
Naturally, the news hits me like a brick tumbling out of the sky. My mind flits back to the trip home from school, where I was almost certain someone had been glaring at me through a car window. Are they the same person, or am I putting two and two together to get five?
‘I’d better go in and make sure Amy is okay,’ I tell him.
Before he can try to stop me, I turn on my heel and march into the house, quickly closing the door my daughter had left open for me. It’s only in the last couple of seconds that I hear Ed’s final words. Then, for the second time today, my entire body turns to ice.
‘Be careful,’ he says. ‘Something’s wrong.’
AS YOU CAN EXPECT, I did all I could to put that thought out of my head. Sure, I had to remain wary in case some strange lady came knocking on my door in the dead of night, but it didn’t come to that. All I had was a long, sleepless night as the house creaked and groaned in the rising winds. You might say I was paranoid.
On the bright side, I’ve woken up to a clean, tidy house. Amy got up before me and sorted out her own breakfast. She’s good at it, just like she is with everything, but I never want her to feel like her own mother won’t take care of her. If she ever needs anything, all she has to do is ask. And maybe poke me a little if I’m sleeping.
Coffee mug in hand, I do a short walk of the large, well-furnished house while keeping an eye out for anything she might need in her school backpack. It’s not too difficult – although our house is big and a lot to manage, I somehow get by. It’s easier when Chris is home, but God knows when the next time will be. He drives across the country for a living. Not that we need the money, but he enjoys his
independence and the freedom of the road, even if it is for weeks at a time. You probably think that sounds like a nightmare, but we do both enjoy our private time. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?
By the time I get Amy out of the door and into the car, I’ve almost completely forgotten about Ed’s report. It’s the final day of school, and I’ve got a whole day of chores to do before the world’s best five-year-old keeps me on my toes for over a week.
‘Mother,’ she says as we begin our short commute.
‘Daughter,’ I respond.
‘What are we going to do during school holidays?’
‘Anything you want. Within reason. Did you have something in mind?’
‘No, but I’ll get back to you in due course.’
A smile parts my lips as I focus on driving. I really have no idea where she gets these little expressions, but I’m guessing it’s from TV or overhearing teachers talking near the playground. The thought continues to amuse me for the rest of the journey, and we’re there before we know it. The school rush is over, and we’re right on time.
Thanking my lucky stars that I managed to get a parking space, I hop out and walk Amy to the gates. We kiss goodbye as always, and I return to the car with the same gaping hole in my stomach that always comes with leaving my daughter.
But that feeling is soon replaced by dread.
The figure has returned to the street, but it’s clearer this time. With only a small car to stand behind, it’s easy to see the raggedy red hair blowing around in the whistling wind. The moth-eaten, hippie-looking clothes are colourful but faded, and they hang off her like curtains. If I’d encountered her in the dark, I’d be way too scared to approach. But with the safety of school security right behind me, I waste no time in marching across the street.
‘Hey,’ I call out, snapping my fingers to break her stare.
The woman – definitely a woman and more than likely the same one Ed is concerned about – stands up straight and hurries away. I stumble to catch up, but a car stops right in my way. My breath
catches as a second driver honks the horn while whizzing past me, way over the speed limit and infuriatingly costing me time.
It’s too late. The woman rounded the corner that I’m not even close to approaching, and now I’m left with the brand-new worry of a stalker and one looming question that will invade my every thought until I someday get an answer. Who the hell is she?
Chapter 2 Ruby
THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE.
I never did expect Lizzie to see me, much less to pursue me up the street. It’s possible I just made matters even worse by running away from her, but there’s no sure way to tell. How would it have gone if I’d simply approached her and said what needed to be said? How quickly would I have got what I wanted if I had taken the direct approach?
We’ll never know.
What I do know is that I’ve been pushing my luck. Nobody was ever supposed to see me. The entire operation was designed to be discreet in nature, with me sitting by myself and watching from a distance for the right moment.
I’ve already blown it.
Lizzie isn’t even the first person to see me. That old fool stopped to ask me some questions yesterday. Apparently, I was ‘out of place’ on that street, which led to a few questions about who I was and what my intentions were.
Needless to say, I ignored him.
Now, here we are. I’m catching my breath in a small lane that’s littered with dead, orangey-brown leaves and a faint smell that I
reckon has to be pee. My breath comes and goes in small clouds that expel from my mouth like steam. All the while, I just watch.
If Lizzie rounds this corner in a few seconds, there’s no telling what I’ll say. I suppose I could lie my way through, but what would that achieve? From my days of observation, it’s plain to see how protective she is of herself, not to mention her daughter.
So I wait, doubled over with my hands on my knees as I fear the worst. Time crawls by so slowly it’s become painful. I check my watch – a tattered old thing I found on the street ten years ago and have kept with me ever since.
Five minutes have passed.
I’m safe.
But that doesn’t mean I’m finished. This task absolutely will be carried out in the coming days, and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can say or do about it. And if some stupid individual out there dares to intervene?
It’s their funeral.
LONGWELL GREEN IS a quiet area on the east fringe of Bristol. It’s the kind of place that’s mostly housing, an ideal place to settle down with a family, but there’s not much to do unless you enjoy drinking coffee or playing sports. I don’t like either of those things.
I just like sex and money.
More specifically, sex formoney.
Yes, I’m a prostitute. Occasionally, at least. Times have become harder over the years, and a working girl is all I ever was. I was doing it from the tender age of sixteen, and I’m technically still doing it twenty years later. There were breaks in between where other things were going on, but that’s the same with most jobs. At the end of the day, nothing has changed.
A whore is whore… is a whore.
But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m not one of those people whose jobs form most of their identity. In fact, it’s just something I fell into. I’m planning to get out, too, but not yet. I haven’t planned much of my future at all, to be honest. However my current plan
works out will determine the next few years of my life, so let’s just see how it goes.
I sit in the local café, which, as far as I can tell, used to be a chapel. It’s designed that way, at the very least. The women behind the counter are bubbly and loud but in a pleasant way. Heads turn my way as I walk in, some smiling at me as if I’m one of them, while others let their gazes roll up and down my clothes. So what if they’re a bit tattered? I’ve fallen on some rough times and am simply embracing who I am. It’s none of their business.
I order an Americano and sit by the window. It takes all of twenty seconds for a man in his fifties to approach me, his dark beard messy and speckled with hints of grey like someone flicked a paintbrush at it. He shrugs off his coat and pulls out a chair, inviting himself to sit at my table before my coffee even arrives. His grubby little hand comes out to shake mine. I’m not sure what attracted him to me – maybe I have a stench of sex about me.
For a fifty-pound note, he could, too.
‘Phil,’ he says, as if I should already know him.
Hesitantly, I take his hand and smile politely. It’s vital that I come across well, so I tell him my name. Now, before I say it, you should be warned that it will one hundred per cent sound like a prostitute’s name. I’d even agree with you.
‘Ruby Wishes,’ I say, pretending I don’t notice his half-smirk.
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What kind of answer is that?’
‘The only one you’re getting.’
The truth is, my current address is wherever it needs to be. I’m ashamedly living out of my car, which often means I work from home, too. That probably sounds tacky and undesirable, but you’d be shocked at how many people pay extra to do it in a car on a public street. I think they’re addicted to the risk.
I’m just addicted to the money.
A mug smashes. An old lady screams. We both turn our heads to the drama, which is basically one of the waitresses running over to tell her it’s okay and start clearing it up. The lady who’s sitting down
–
a well-dressed woman who has to be in her sixties – thanks her and apologises profusely. There’s nothing else to see here, so Phil and I return to our chat.
‘That’s Wendy Darling,’ he says, pausing while I strain to figure out why it sounds so familiar. ‘It’s a character from Peter Pan. She lost her marbles a few years ago when her whole family died in a fire. After that, she fell into lunacy. Changed her name. I think to reconnect with her childhood – a time before she had her own family.’
‘Right.’
I glance over at the woman and see swirls of sadness in her eyes. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose everyone in your life. The most I’ve ever lost is one person, and that was hard enough. If I were capable of feeling sympathy, I’d be feeling it right now.
Phil continues to make random, uninteresting conversation that I can’t even pretend to be drawn in by. Mostly because a certain character passes by the window. It’s his wispy, cloud-like hair I recognise first and then instantly see his angry, accusing face.
‘Who’s that?’ I ask, interrupting Phil and pointing through the glass.
‘The old man? That’s Ed Warner. Why?’
Because it’s good to know your enemies, I think but don’t say. My focus remains fixed on Ed until he’s out of view, and I start to wonder just how much of a problem he’s going to be. I comfort myself by trying to remember that, just like other problems, he can be eliminated.
At long last, the waitress who recently cleaned up the mess plonks an Americano down in front of me. I thank her and continue to engage in useless chit-chat. Over time, some of Phil’s friends come to join us at the table. When he figures out he’s not getting into my pants without a thick wad of cash, he soon gives up and leaves, waving goodbye to everyone as if he sees them every day. I’m left with two old ladies who are keen to talk about themselves. That’s fine by me because all I have to do is nod occasionally and make the odd comment.
Before I know it, they think I’m a good person. They couldn’t be more wrong. See, I’ve done things in my life. You don’t really know me too well yet, but you’ve probably already got the sense that I put survival over morals. In the words of the infamous Vanilla Ice, ‘If there’s a problem, yo, I’ll solve it’, but I’ll do it on my own terms with my own best interests taken care of. Screw everyone else.
What have they ever done for me?
I stick around for another coffee and enjoy the company. Soon, people will start talking about the new stranger in town and how nice she seems. Every little bit helps, doesn’t it? Especially when it’s all part of a greater scheme to get what I want.
Like I said, I’ll do whatever it takes.
FROM MY UNDERSTANDING, it’s the last day of school. Which means it’s going to be so much easier to keep an eye on both Lizzie and her daughter because they’ll always be together. I don’t know how that will change when Chris comes home from work, but this will do for now.
I’m currently shrouded in darkness, occupying the front seat of the address I spoke about before (something I like to call 2003 Ford Mondeo Street). The Hughes residence is right across the road, with just two lights on in the entire house. Downstairs, in what I’m guessing is the living room, Lizzie paces back and forth with a paperback in her hand. Her thin, gangly figure is hunched over as she walks into furniture again and again.
Upstairs, there’s nothing to see. From my position in the car, all that’s visible is some pink wallpaper and the corner of a poster I can’t identify. It makes me wonder what kind of person this little Amy is. What kind of music does she like? What foods does she crave versus what she would spit out? Is she kind and friendly or a bully?
And how easy would it be to snatch her from her bed?
Sighing, I shift uncomfortably in my seat and look away. I can’t think like that. My thoughts are becoming as dark as the current
night sky, and that’s dangerous. Darkness leads to desperation, and desperation will blow up everything I’ve worked for.
That’s if Ed Warner doesn’t get there first.
I’ve already identified him as a potential problem, but at least I’ve already worked myself in with some of the locals. I’ve got their names and left my impression, which should go a very long way to proving I’m worth having around. Or that I won’t cause trouble, in any case.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all just planning and preparation, the same as you might tackle a gardening or DIY project. Groundwork, if you will, to ensure the survival of whatever I build atop it. And, believe me, I have plans to build.
For now though, I just need to get a good night’s sleep. It’s easier said than done in a cold car though. I don’t want to turn on the engine and give myself any heat, mostly because it will draw attention to me and ruin everything. But also, if my battery dies, I’ll be totally screwed.
It occurs to me then that anything could derail my entire plan. I’ll have to rethink my strategy – maybe even consider making myself known before I’m caught. Would that really be the worst thing in the world? A bit like when someone lies and tries to get their side of the story in first, I could easily approach Lizzie and tell her who I am.
But there’s time for that. I’ll let it sit for the night and decide for sure in the morning. Until then, I simply need to recline my seat and assure myself that it’s all going to work out in my favour. Soon, I’ll have everything I want.
Even if everyone else loses.
Chapter 3 Lizzie
NOT ONLY DID I sleep through my alarm, but so did Amy. That would obviously bother me on a school day, but that’s not a problem for the next week or so. I have nine full days of childcare to worry about now. It sounds like I’m moaning, but I’m really not.
Amy is the centre of my life.
We start the day as we would any other Saturday. That means a cooked breakfast with bacon, sausages, eggs, and more. The smell wafts through the house in spite of the extractor fan humming on full. My stomach groans at me like an idling truck as the pan hisses up at me. Amy barely looks up from her book, her elbows perched on the kitchen table as she tries to make sense of a story that’s three years too advanced for her.
‘What do you want to do today?’ I ask, buzzing about the kitchen. ‘We could—’
‘Shh. I’m reading.’
I reel back in exaggerated surprise, widening my eyes with a smirk. It’s a pointless effort as her face is still hidden by the spread pages, but it helps as a coping mechanism. What is it they say when a young girl becomes more abrupt? ‘She’s becoming a real madam?’ To be completely honest, I love who she’s growing up to be. I just wish she would slow down a little.
By the time the meat is cooked, everything else is prepared. I dish up and tell Amy to put the book away. She obeys with a fed-up roll of the eyes, then thanks me for the effort of making breakfast. That’s what I love to see – her manners are rooted firmly in her character.
‘Mum…’ Amy starts, examining some baked beans on her fork. ‘Some of my friends from school said they saw you chasing someone yesterday. Is it true?’
My hand hovers in front of my mouth, the fork gripped tightly in my suddenly tense fingers. How much does she know, exactly? How much shouldshe know?
‘What are the kids saying?’ I ask, putting out the feeler.
Amy shrugs. ‘Just that you ran after someone.’
‘Do they know who I was chasing?’
‘No, but the teachers were talking about it.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They don’t know who it was either.’
I lower my fork as Amy goes on eating. My appetite has suddenly disappeared, but my relationship with (or rather, love for) food makes me feel guilty about shoving my plate to one side. It’s such a wasted opportunity to add a couple of pounds to my thin figure.
‘Amy, have you noticed anything strange lately?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like someone following you? Maybe feeling less alone than you should?’
‘Not really.’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary at all?’
‘I said no, Mum. Can I finish eating?’
I smile in spite of how I feel, then tell her that of course she can keep eating. There should be some comfort in how confident she is that nobody has followed her around. Then again, she is only five. What do kids of that age really know?
Looks like I’ll have to continue being careful after all.
When she’s finished with her breakfast, Amy goes straight back to reading her book. I start clearing up, scraping the contents of my plate into the bin and wishing for the first time in years that I had a
dog to feed it to. It would also offer more companionship while Chris is driving across the UK, but it would obviously mean more responsibility. With how chaotic things have been lately, that’s the last thing I need.
After breakfast, Amy disappears upstairs while I pull my laptop out in the living room. The plan is to find something fun to do today, but I’m quickly distracted by some social media notifications. There’s nothing that steals my interest, but I’m a sucker for keeping a clean and tidy inbox. I guess I’m as anal about that as I am my home’s cleanliness.
Just as I clear off the final notification, there’s a knock on the door. I thank the gods above for the interruption because as soon as this is dealt with, I can go back to planning our little girls’ trip to the forest or something.
Except it doesn’t get that far. No sooner do I open the door than my knees go weak. I inhale a sharp breath and step forward, wedging myself between the door and its frame. Our eyes lock, and suddenly, all my fears are standing on my doorstep.
In the shape of the woman who’s been following me.
IT’S hard to get the words out. Instinctively, I take a step back and glance at the stairs, ensuring Amy is not within this woman’s sight. When I’m finally able to speak, very little comes out.
‘You’ve been following me,’ I state bluntly, recognising that strawlike red hair.
‘Lizzie’ is all she says until a few highly uncomfortable seconds have passed. Only then does she fold her arms, shift her weight to the other foot, and add, ‘I reckon it’s about time you and me had a conversation, grown-up to grown-up.’
You andI,dum-dum,I think but bite my tongue. I find my hand has been clutching at my trouser leg, and then I release it and lean against the door frame like a barricade.
‘You’re damn right we need to talk,’ I say. ‘You can start by telling me why the hell you’ve been following me. If it were just the once, I might have thought you simply mistook me for someone else. But
considering you just used my name, I’m guessing you know more about me than I know about you.’
‘Let’s fix that.’ The woman offers a pale hand, wrinkled by the cold. ‘Ruby Wishes.’
‘I’m sure she does. Put your hand down and tell me why you’re here.’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me. Spit it out or get off my property.’
While she stares at me with those blue-grey eyes, I start to question my safety. I was never much of a fighter, and this woman clearly looks like she grew up on the streets – if the frayed clothing doesn’t suggest as much, her loose tongue does the rest. What if Chris were here right now? Would I be brave enough to probe further and get to the bottom of this mystery?
Ruby straightens up, unfolds her arms, and places both hands on her hips. When she opens her mouth, the mystery is immediately resolved. But another stands in its place, snaking through the earth like a wicked vine and rooting me to the spot.
‘I’m here for Amy,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘I’m her birth mother.’
I’VE NEVER FELT such an odd combination of emotions at once. There’s shock at the sheer fact this is happening at all, shame that I didn’t figure this out, and overwhelming embarrassment that my reaction is to push the door open wider as if she has a right to enter my home.
Ruby steps inside before I can tell her I made a mistake. I’m assaulted by her sugary-sweet perfume as she comes to stand beside me, shrugging and smiling in a weirdly friendly way. I begin to struggle with the panic of losing my daughter.
‘I’m not here for that,’ Ruby says as if reading my mind.
‘Here for what?’
We both spin around to gaze at the figure on the stairs. Amy is standing there with her book clutched under one arm, a half-drunk glass of water held in her other hand. I hear Ruby’s sudden, sharp
intake of breath as I try to steady my own. Before I know it, I’m rushing to control the situation before our visitor can get a word in.
‘Go back to your room, Little Goof. We need some privacy.’
Amy pulls a face at her nickname, but she doesn’t argue. She turns on her heel and runs back up the stairs, making all the sounds of a jackhammer. Ruby and I are then left by the front door, my head as messy as it was only seconds ago. Perhaps even more.
‘Should we…?’ Ruby suggests, pointing at the living room.
‘No. Let’s go to the kitchen.’ It’slessinvasive.
I go straight for the mug tree, taking two off with shaking hands and trying to keep myself composed. With the flick of a switch, the kettle starts bubbling the water, which gives me a minute or so to compose myself and figure out what to say. There’s no guidebook for things like this. There are laws protecting it but not preventing it.
The kettle finishes its job, and I pour two cups of boiled water. As it splashes into the mugs, I only then realise I haven’t put anything else in them. ‘God. Um… tea or coffee?’
Ruby comes around the kitchen table and helps herself to a seat. A random shine of sun pours through the nearby window and highlights her messy copper hair, making it look like old wool for a fleeting moment. She smiles and shakes her head.
‘Neither. Look, you can relax. I know I should have called first. I’m not trying to take Amy away or anything like that. In fact, I shouldn’t be here at all. You can kick me out at any time, and I won’t kick up a stink.’
I nod, appreciating it. ‘Okay. So why areyou here?’
She shrugs and leans back, folding her arms again. ‘Life hasn’t been the easiest for me, but I’m trying to make things right. There’s some kind of mental blocker on that while the wound is still open after giving up my only child. I thought… I don’t know.’
‘That if you can close the wound, then you can move on with your life?’
‘Probably something like that, yeah.’
‘So what exactly are you asking me?’
‘If I can maybe meet her.’
‘And how might that go? I don’t want to tell her she’s adopted.’
‘For sure. I wouldn’t make you do that either. Maybe we can just say hello?’
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. While I mull that over, I realise I’m not ready for caffeine but badly need hydration. I pour myself a glass of water from the BRITA filter and down it in one go. Obviously, I was thirstier than I had time to notice.
‘Why would I risk that? What is it you think I owe you?’
‘You don’t owe me anything. I’m just asking for help.’
‘Right. So… why would I help someone who followed me and my daughter?’ I put an unintentional emphasis on ‘my’, and there are no two guesses as to why – I’m feeling like a super-protective mumma bear.
‘Sorry I did that. I just didn’t know what else to do. It was hard enough just finding you.’
‘How didyou find me?’
‘Your name popped up on social media. I recognised it and explored.’
To be honest, I feel massively violated. Not in the get-your-handoff-my-leg sense, but in that my home and personal life both feel aggressively invaded. I’m making a mental note right now to change my privacy settings on all the social media apps.
Maybe even delete some.
Ruby screeches her chair back then, standing up with her head down like she’s truly ashamed of herself. ‘Yeah, I made a mistake coming here. I’m real sorry. I just… sorry. All I wanted was a chance to meet her and see that she’s doing well. I’ll get out of your hair now.’
Without another word, she pulls the handbag strap up her shoulder and makes her way to the door. There was a break in her voice over those last few words, and suddenly, I’m swaddled in sympathy. I couldn’t imagine losing Amy, and something inside me has suddenly triggered to remind me that – this woman? – she already didlose her.
‘Wait,’ I say without thinking.
Ruby stops, turns, and meets my gaze. I hold it for a few moments while I give the decision my best consideration. The
problem is, as usual, I speak far faster than I think.
‘Tomorrow,’ I say in a breath. ‘Come back tomorrow. It will be a one-off supervised visit. I’ll be right at her side the whole time. You don’t tell her who you really are, and you leave as soon as I tell you to. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.’
It’s no surprise when Ruby starts beaming. She rushes across the kitchen, making me flinch. I take a short step back and bump against the kitchen counter, but then she’s already on me. Her arms come out and wrap around me, her body pressed against mine as she sobs gratefully onto my shoulder. She smells just like the average street smells: dirty and old and used by many. I wonder if that’s where she came from.
If she dares to threaten our family’s peace, that’s where she’ll end up.
Chapter 4 Ruby
THERE AIN’T no way I can describe what I’m feeling right now. Lizzie gave me a chance!
To be completely honest, I didn’t see that coming in a month of Sundays. Like I said, I’ve been watching her for a while now – way more than I led her to believe – and if there’s one thing I learned about her, it’s that she doesn’t want to share her daughter. Not that she has a choice.
See, although I’m Amy’s birth mother, giving her up for adoption was one big, stupid mistake that I made purely due to my circumstances. The years following what can only be described as the most depressing day of my life have been the hardest of all. Getting paid for sex isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but it puts food in my mouth.
Among other things.
Having said that, I’m in no better position than I was back then –my wallet is only slightly thinner than my waistline, and I’m starting to look ill. What I need is a few good meals, some real sleep in an actual bed, and a little joy from that daughter of mine.
Is that so much to ask?
Apparently not. Lizzie bought into my sweet little persona, as foolishly as expected. It sucks that I have to wait a whole day to see
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realized that Miss Hester had a tenderer feeling for the little waif because of this much loved twin sister.
"And then," Ruth said to herself, "I can make a sunbonnet for my doll like the one Henrietta used to wear, a pink one. I have some scraps of pink gingham that Lucia Field gave me. I wish I knew whether I could have the pocket."
She heard a stir of chairs in the next room and supposed that Miss Beach was about to go, but she was mistaken in this for the next moment Miss Hester came into the room where Ruth was, and going to an old writing desk, took from it a lot of papers.
Ruth improved the opportunity. "Are you going to use this pocket, Aunt Hester?" she asked. "It has a hole in it, a little one. Will you want it for Billy's coat?"
"No, I'd better make new ones," was the answer.
"Then, may I have this for Henrietta?"
Miss Hester glanced down. "Yes, you may have it," she answered. Then she went back to the living-room.
"I think I'll rip out the pocket," thought Ruth. "I can do it without hurting the cloth, for I'll be careful not to cut anything but the striped stuff."
She ripped away industriously till the pocket came off readily and made a gaping place between the lining and the cloth of the coat. Ruth slipped her hand down into the hole.
"How deep it goes down," she thought. Her fingers touched the corner and discovered that something had lodged there.
"I suppose it's tobacco," she said disgustedly, but her fingers drew forth a little wad of paper which time had creased and worn. "It isn't anything after all," said Ruth. "If it had been tobacco, I could have given it to old silly Jake when he comes to saw wood."
She threw the bit of paper on the floor, then remembering Miss Hester's orderliness, picked it up again and slipped it into the pocket she had ripped out.
"I'll throw it in the fire when I get through this," she said, "but I don't want to go into the kitchen 'spressly for that."
However, both paper and pocket were forgotten half an hour later when Billy came blustering in.
"Say, Ruth," he cried, "come along out when you get that done. I've got something to show you."
Billy's excitement promised no ordinary thing.
"Oh, what is it?" cried Ruth, her eyes shining. "Wait and see."
"I'm 'most through," said the little girl, eagerly. "I won't be a minute, Billy. Miss Beach is going, too, so Aunt Hester can come and say the hour is up, for it is striking three now."
She folded her work, stowed it away in the chest, picked up the striped pocket and ran into her little room with it, where she tucked it away in her box of scraps for doll clothes.
As she came running back the door closed after Miss Beach. "It's three o'clock, Aunt Hester, and I picked out every stitch and put away the coat. Now may I go?" asked Ruth as Miss Hester came in.
Miss Hester looked around to make sure that all was in order. She held a parcel in her hand and as she sat down she murmured, "More buttonholes."
Ruth came closer and laid her small hand upon Miss Hester's arm. "And you hate them so," she said sympathetically. "Are you afraid you will have to make them all your life, Aunt Hester?"
Miss Hester sighed. "I am afraid so."
"No, you won't," Ruth assured her. "You can teach me to make them when I am bigger and then, when Billy gets to keeping store, we won't either of us have to make them, for, when we get hungry we can go down to Billy's and eat crackers and raisins and things. I'm coming, Billy."
For Billy, grown impatient, had gone out into the yard and was calling her.
Miss Hester looked after her as she ran out. "Amanda need not discourage me about Ruth," she said with a faint little smile; "I'll have the child's love and confidence yet." Then she sat down to her old desk and pored over a little pile of papers which she drew from a pigeon-hole.
Meanwhile, Billy had preceded Ruth to the wood-shed and was standing over something in a dark corner.
"Look," he whispered, "ain't they the cunningest you ever did see?"
And Ruth, tiptoeing nearer, saw four little fat puppies cuddled up against their small mongrel mother.
"Oh, aren't they dear?" exclaimed the child. "Where did they come from, Billy? Who does the mother belong to?"
"Nobody, I reckon. She's just a stray."
"Oh, like us," said Ruth in a sympathetic voice, as she leaned down to stroke the little creature. "Has she had anything to eat, Billy?"
"No, but I'm going to give her my supper."
"Oh, I'll give half mine and then you needn't give but half yours, so we won't any of us three be very hungry. Oh, Billy, do you think there is any chance of Aunt Hester's letting us keep her and the babies?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Billy, soberly.
"You haven't told her?"
"Not yet."
"If we could keep just one," said Ruth, clasping her hands, "maybe we could find homes for the rest. I'll tell you what, Billy; let us get her to tell us more about Bruno. You know how she loved him and then we'll tell her about these and ask her if she doesn't want one in Bruno's place."
"That's a scheme," cried Billy. "We'll do that very thing. You see we'll have to let her know if we mean to take our suppers out to the little mother."
"So we will. You shall have something pretty soon, you nice little doggie," said Ruth, caressingly, as she stroked the soft brown ears of the small creature lying in the straw. The dog lifted her wistful eyes gratefully and licked Ruth's fingers in response. "See how friendly she is," said Ruth, delightedly. "I'd like to keep you, dear little doggie; I would so. Does any one know but us, Billy?"
"Not a soul."
"Then don't let's tell just yet, till we know what Aunt Hester says, for some of the boys might pick out the very one we like before we get a chance to know if we can keep one."
"That's so," agreed Billy. "We won't tell yet. I like that little fellow with the spots; see him nose my hand."
"I like the one with brown ears like its mother," declared Ruth. "When will they have their eyes open, Billy?"
"Not for nine or ten days yet. There's Aunt Hester calling; we will have to go. Don't say a word till supper time."
Not a word was said to Miss Hester just then, although Billy grew very red when she asked what they were doing in the wood-shed, but he rose to the occasion by answering: "Oh, just playing."
Later on, when Ruth was setting the table, she drew Miss Hester into telling about her childhood days.
"And did you have Bruno then?" asked Ruth.
"Not then, but we had another dog named Stray, a smaller dog."
"That's a nice name for a dog," commented Billy with satisfaction.
"You'd like to name one that, wouldn't you?" said Ruth with a little laugh which she smothered when Billy frowned at her.
"Tell about Stray," said the boy.
"He was a dog my sister and I had."
"Was he not very big with brown ears and eyes?"
"Why yes. Did I ever tell you about him?"
"No," answered Ruth, confusedly, "but I thought maybe he was; I like that kind."
"Well, that was the kind Stray was. He was a lively little fellow and we were very fond of him, although he was not a thoroughbred."
"What is a thoroughbred?" asked Ruth.
"It is a dog or a horse or any animal which is very fine of its kind. A thoroughbred dog wouldn't have the head of a setter and the tail of a collie and the legs of a fox-terrier," said Miss Hester, smiling.
"Did Stray have all those?" asked Ruth.
"Well, not exactly. He was a cross between a spaniel and a fox-terrier and my father used to laugh at him."
"Where did you get him?" asked Ruth eagerly.
"He came into the yard one day looking very thin and miserable. My sister and I took him something to eat, and after that he followed us everywhere, so we begged to be allowed to keep him."
"You begged your father, didn't you?" Ruth asked.
"Yes."
"And he let you keep him. He must have been a very nice man, a very nice man indeed," decided Ruth with a glance at Billy.
"He was a nice man, my dear; the kindest in the world. It was his kind-heartedness that lost us the old home," Miss Brackenbury sighed.
"Why?"
"I don't know that you would understand; but he raised money to help a friend out of difficulties, and, though I am quite certain he paid back all that he owed, after his death, I could find no record of any payment and the man from whom the money was borrowed insisted upon payment. It took nearly everything."
"What a dreadful, selfish man not to let you keep your house," said Ruth savagely. "I'd like to crush him down to the earth and stamp on him."
"Why, Ruth, what a terrible way to talk."
"I would, I would," declared Ruth. "If he was a wicked man, why shouldn't I want to? The children of Israel liked to kill wicked people and idolaters; I know that man is an idolater; I'll bet he has a brazen image."
"Why, Ruth, you know nothing of the kind. You must not talk so." Miss Hester spoke severely, but there was a flicker of a smile around the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, keep quiet, Ruth," put in Billy. "I want to hear about Stray."
But Ruth's indignation was still burning.
"I'll bet if that man had been your father, he wouldn't have let you keep Stray," she continued.
"Very likely he would not have, but never mind about that. Stray lived to a good old age and died long after my little sister did. My father got Bruno for me because I mourned so for Stray."
"If—if—" Ruth looked at Billy and slipped a cold trembling little hand into his. The critical moment had come. She swallowed once or twice and began again: "If—if you and your sister had found Stray with four little puppies in the wood-shed, do you think your father-would have let you keep them all? Was he as good as all that?"
"He was good enough to do anything that was right and just, Ruth, but I don't think he would have consented to our having five dogs."
"I don't think five are a great many," Billy spoke up. "Dr. Peaslee has six or eight."
"He has a pack of hounds, I admit, but they are hunting dogs and are not house pets."
Ruth gave a long sigh. "How many do you suppose he would have let you keep?" she asked.
"Not more than one, or two at the most."
"Two would do, you know," exclaimed Ruth carried beyond discretion, "the mother and one of the puppies, Billy."
"What are you talking about?" said Miss Hester, in surprise.
Ruth's cheeks began to burn and she fingered Miss Hester's apron nervously.
That lady quietly lifted one of the cold hands. "What icy fingers, Ruth," she said. "Are you so cold?"
"No, Aunt Hester, I'm not cold only—only there are four puppies, you know, and the mother. We do want so much to keep two. Oh, won't you be as good as your father and let us keep them? They are in the wood-shed and we are going to give them half our supper."
"Four puppies and their mother in the wood-shed!" exclaimed Miss Hester in astonishment. "How did they get there?"
"They just came," said Billy, eagerly coming into the conversation. "I found them there this afternoon. She's awfully nice, Aunt Hester; you ought just to see her lick your hand, and the puppies are great; there's one with spots—"
"And one with brown ears," Ruth chimed in. "I'd love that one. It looks like its mother. She has brown ears and eyes just like Stray."
"I must see about this," said Miss Hester. "I am sorry, children, but I am afraid we cannot afford to keep any of them, for it would mean another mouth to feed."
"But we'd give half our supper to them," argued Billy. Miss Hester shook her head sadly. "I couldn't allow that, Billy, for you children do not have more than you ought as it is."
"Sho!" exclaimed Billy, "We have a heap more than we used to have, and we got 'long then. Why, Aunt Hester, two years ago we'd have thought ourselves regular swells if we'd had three meals a day."
But Miss Hester was obdurate, though she finally consented to allow the children to share their meals with the little
mother until her babies were big enough to give away, Billy declaring that there were plenty of the boys who would be glad to have one of the puppies.
So, after supper, they all went out to the wood-shed, Billy and Ruth each bearing a pan of porridge and milk, for each had so insisted upon the right to feed the dog, that Miss Hester was obliged to hunt up two old pans into which was poured strictly half of their supper. This was eagerly eaten by their small pensioner who seemed half-starved.
"Poor little thing," said Miss Hester, wistfully. "I really wish we could keep her, but how could we feed her when we eat up everything so clean that we have no scraps."
"Oh, if I could only make buttonholes," said Ruth fervently, "I'd make enough to buy her all she needed."
Yet a way was provided for the entire family of dogs, for the next day Billy came flying home from school, a pack of boys at his heels. These were escorted to the wood-shed and therefrom came a great clamor of voices.
Ruth hovered on the outskirts eager for the first news.
After a while, the boys filed out all talking at once. As they went out the gate, they shouted back, "We'll be sure to be on hand to-night, Billy."
And then Billy's red head appeared. The boy's face wore a pleased smile.
"Oh, Billy, tell me," cried Ruth, wild with curiosity.
"It's all right," said Billy; "I've made a bargain with the fellows, and they've got to keep to it, too. Come on, let's tell Aunt Hester. I've got 'em all to promise, and they've got
to sign in ink, too." He strode importantly into the house, Ruth dancing at his heels.
"We can keep any one we want, Aunt Hester," he announced, "and it won't cost one cent, either. There's five dogs, ain't there? Well, there's four of the boys that's agreed to give me scraps for one dog, every day as I come home from school, to pay for the puppy he is to have, and if a fellow don't keep his word I'm to take back his dog, and I'm goin' to do it, too, for Sam Tolman's awful anxious for one and there ain't enough to go round. So now can't we have one to keep?"
"Why, yes. You're a real good hand at a bargain, Billy," said Miss Hester, looking pleased. "Of course, if you can feed the dog, you can keep it."
"The boys are goin' to bring the stuff here while the little pups are with their mother, so she can get fed. Charlie Hastings likes her best of any and says he'd rather have a grown-up dog than a pup. He says he knows his mother will let him have her 'cause they had a dog much like her that got runned over last summer and they all felt awful 'bout it. He says they'll call this one Flossy after the one they had."
"Oh, I am so glad she will have a good home," cried Ruth, clasping her hands. "Which are we to have?"
"Well, I reckon we'll keep the one with brown ears 'cause Art Bender wants the spotted one and Art's father is awful rich, so that we'll get more scraps from them than anybody, and I thought it would be better to let him have Spot."
He spoke quite soberly, but Miss Hester put back her head and laughed more merrily than the children had heard her since they had come to the little house.
CHAPTER III
Henrietta's Red Coat
FOR a long time after this, Henrietta was neglected and the striped pocket lay unheeded in the box of pieces, for Stray was the absorbing interest to both Ruth and Billy. Generous little Billy had declared the puppy must belong half to Ruth, and, therefore, she always went with him when, tin pail in hand, he called at the different houses where the promised scraps were to be collected. Sometimes, the scraps which the other puppies left were few, but there was always enough for the not too fastidious appetite of Stray, or, if it seemed a very slim supper, both Ruth and Billy cheerfully set aside a portion of theirs, consequently Stray throve and grew apace.
Miss Hester confessed that he was great company for her while the children were at school, and he came to consider her as close a friend as Ruth or Billy.
Before winter came on, the major's old overcoat was fashioned into a warm one for Billy, and for Ruth, Miss Hester contrived comfortable frocks from her discarded ones. But there was no coat for her, till one day Ruth discovered Miss Hester bending over an old chest in the attic. The tiny house held but four rooms below and the attic above. One end of the attic was curtained off for a room for Billy; the rest was stored with chests and bandboxes, trunks and old furniture.
It was rather a fearsome place to Ruth, that dark end of the attic, though she did venture in there once in a while when she was hiding from Billy. Now, however, Stray could always find her so that it was no longer any fun to hide there.
Upon this particular day, she had a message from Miss Amanda Beach, and was in a hurry to deliver it lest she forget it.
"Aunt Hester, Aunt Hester," she called, "where are you?"
An answer came from the dark end of the attic; "Here, child."
Ruth groped her way along the dusky aisles. A spinning wheel's flax brushed her face; an old leghorn bonnet was set swinging from the rafters as she felt her way with uplifted hands; a string of dried peppers, hanging from a beam, caught in her hair. Ruth stood still.
"I don't see you," she said anxiously; the peppers had seemed like something alive.
"Over here," repeated Miss Hester, standing up, and Ruth saw her figure dimly in the gloom.
She picked her way along with more assurance as her eyes became accustomed to the half light.
"Miss Amanda wanted me to be sure to tell you that there is to be a meeting of the mothers this afternoon at the minister's house and you mustn't forget to come, she says. You are just the same as a mother, Billy's and mine, aren't you, Aunt Hester?"
"I hope so," returned Miss Hester groping among the bundles in the chest before which she was kneeling. "There,
this is what I am looking for."
"Oh, what a cunning little hood," said Ruth picking up a soft cashmere affair, trimmed with swansdown. "Was it yours when you were a little girl, Aunt Hester?"
"No, all these things belonged to my little sister Henrietta. They have been in this chest ever since she died. My mother put them there with her own hands."
"Oh." Ruth leaned over to look more closely at the neat piles of garments. Miss Hester sat on the floor and pushed back a lock of hair which had fallen over her eyes. She was a tall, slender woman with dark hair, hazel eyes and a sad expression about the mouth.
"Were they all Henrietta's?" asked Ruth with interest. "Aunt Hester, if you had had a little girl you would have named her Henrietta, wouldn't you?"
Miss Hester smiled. "Very likely."
"'Most everybody calls me Ruth Brackenbury, don't they? Do you like to have them call me that, Aunt Hester?"
"Do you?"
"I do, if you do," returned Ruth shyly. Then her thoughts turned to Miss Amanda and she said again, "You are just the same as our mother, Billy's and mine, aren't you?"
"I try to be the same as a mother to you."
"Then, Aunt Hester, could I be named Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury, and if anybody asks my name can I tell them it is that?"
"Why, my dear," Miss Hester arose and hung over her arm the garment she had taken from the chest, "yes, if you like."
"Would you like?" asked Ruth wistfully.
Miss Hester did not answer at once, but picked her way back to where it was lighter.
"Try this on," she said holding out a dark red coat trimmed with fur.
Ruth slipped her arms into the sleeves and then softly stroked the fur trimming.
"It fits perfectly," said Miss Hester, with satisfaction, "so you can wear it Sunday. I will hang it out in the air to get rid of the smell of camphor, and to-morrow I will press out the creases."
"For me? For me?" cried Ruth. "Henrietta's coat for me? Oh, Aunt Hester!"
"Yes, for you, and I think all those little clothes will fit you. It will save me many stitches and what good are they hoarded away?" she said half to herself.
Ruth clasped her arms around Miss Hester's waist. "Please kiss me as if I were Henrietta," she said, "and let me put her name next to mine."
Miss Hester stooped to kiss the quivering lips. "I will ask the minister about the name," she answered. "I am not sure whether it would be right, but I'd like it. Yes, I'd like very much for you to have it."
"May I wear the coat down-stairs?" asked Ruth. "Then you won't have to carry it."
"You may wear it down, then take it off and lay it on my bed."
"Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury," whispered Ruth to herself as she stepped down the narrow stairs behind Miss Hester, avoiding the plain black skirt which swept each step in front of her.
Ruth loved color. Rich clothes and dainty fare likewise appealed to her. It was bitterness to the proud little soul to feel that she had been taken from the streets. She envied the little Henrietta who had been a Brackenbury and who had lived her short life in the fine old house with white pillars. The child felt that in some way she would more fairly possess that little sister's inheritance if she could include Henrietta's name in her own.
Little Ruth gave a fierce loyalty to the mother she had loved so dearly, and, though she never failed to stand up for her father, and was ready with excuses whenever Billy or any other assailed him, in her inmost heart she felt a bitter rage against the man who had left her and her mother to suffer. She excused him partly because of pride and partly because she knew her mother would wish it. But, to herself, she considered that a great injustice had been done and resented bitterly the fact that those who commended Miss Hester for her great charity, felt that Ruth and Billy belonged to the same class.
Billy did not care what any one thought. His life had been a hard one from babyhood. He had never been warm in winter, nor had he had enough to eat at any time of year. He had been kicked and battered about from this one to
that till he could not tell to whom he really did belong, so that when he drifted into this haven of peace, he had but one feeling and that of thankfulness.
With Ruth it was different. She remembered when she had worn pretty clothes and when a sweet and dainty mother had fed her choice bits from a well-appointed table, when a tall father had taken her to drive behind a gray horse. She remembered, too, a pretty house and garden which had been home to her. She could not recollect how it happened that all changed, but so it did, and, by degrees, the place she and her mother called home, became poorer and poorer till a garret under the eaves of a tall building was their habitation.
When it came to this, there was no father there to see the manner of it; only a pale and sad mother who wept constantly and who coughed often as she sat over a table, writing, writing. After a while there was less to eat, no fire and the cough grew worse. Then they took her mother away one morning after she had lain for hours very pale and still. Ruth could not rouse her.
Some one came in and whispered: "She is dead, poor thing."
And then Ruth knew what was the matter. In a turmoil of terror and grief she had rushed down the steps and out into the street. Her mother could not be dead. It needed but a doctor to make her well, and it was a doctor the desperate little child was seeking when she was discovered by a city missionary, exhausted and weeping and weary with wandering.
At first, she had repelled all advances from Miss Hester, and had no words even for Billy, but his good nature at last
brought a response and she accepted his companionship, while for Miss Hester there was springing up a deep affection. She was no longer jealous for the mother who had become an angel, for she was fading into a sweet and lovely dream.
She no longer resented the fact that Miss Hester had taken her in from charity, for she was beginning to realize that something more than cold duty prompted Miss Hester's kind acts. To-day for the first time she understood in what light Miss Hester really regarded her, for, could she have given to any one that she did not love, the clothing of the long mourned little twin sister, Henrietta?
The child took off the coat, carefully laid it on Miss Hester's bed, then she fingered it gently. It was lined with soft wadded silk, and in the little pocket was a folded handkerchief. Ruth drew it out and silently held it out to Miss Hester.
"You can use that, too," Miss Hester told her.
And Ruth put it back again. It gave her a truer sense of taking Henrietta's place to know that it was there.
She wore the red coat proudly to church the next Sunday, and though, at any other time she would have allowed Stray to take such liberties as pleased him, she spoke to him quite sharply when he attempted to jump upon her with not too clean paws.
"Proudy," whispered Billy.
Ruth shot him a look of defiance from under her black brows. "You'd be proud, too, if you had on Henrietta Brackenbury's coat," she said.
"Well, I guess I've got on the major's," returned Billy triumphantly.
"Oh, but it's made over," returned Ruth, as if that settled the question and made all the difference in the world.
In fact, so complacent was Ruth in her new rig that, a few days later, her pride had a fall, such a tumbledown as was followed by serious consequences.
It was when Lucia Field invited her to a party which was strictly select, it being her birthday. Annie Waite was there as well as Nora Petty, Angeline McBride and Charlotte Thompson. Ruth was glad to see them all except Nora and Angeline, for these two had never been very agreeable to her at school. Once or twice, Nora had made some little mean remark which Ruth had overheard and which had made her very angry. She had told Billy about it, but he only laughed. She had not forgotten, however, and held herself rather loftily when she entered Lucia's house, clad in the red coat and a fine plaid poplin which had been Henrietta's.
"Doesn't Ruth look nice?" whispered Annie to Nora.
"So, so," was the reply given with a toss of the head.
"I wonder where she got her clothes," said Angeline. "They are kind of old-fashioned, but they are awfully pretty."
"She didn't bring 'em with her when she came to town, that's one thing sure," said Nora behind her hand.
And Angeline giggled.
By this time, Ruth had laid aside her coat and hat in the best bedroom, and had stepped down the broad stairway
into the room where the other girls were gathered, waiting for the party to begin. Mrs. Field was there and her cousin, Miss Fannie, a young lady in a blue dress, who smiled invitingly at each of the girls and said they must have some games. Then the fun began, and for an hour or more went steadily forward, Miss Fannie being at the head and front of everything. Then came simple refreshments; home-made cakes, ice-cream and bonbons.
Ruth was just thinking that she had never had a better time in her life, when Lucia came forward with a birthday book which her cousin Fannie had given her.
"Now, before you go," she said, "I want you all to write your names in my birthday book."
Ruth's color came and went as she stood waiting her turn.
Nora looked at her, nudged Angeline and giggled. She knew it was an awkward moment for Ruth, though Lucia had not dreamed of such a thing. She really was very fond of Ruth, and admired her much more than she did Nora.
Annie and Charlotte had bent themselves to their task.
Annie's was a crooked scrawl slanting unevenly across the page opposite March 12. Charlotte's signature was very black and round.
"Now it is your turn," said Miss Fannie to Ruth. "When is your birthday, dear?"
"November the fifteenth," said Ruth weakly.
"Oh," exclaimed Nora, "how do you know?"
Ruth bit her lip, then she made answer: "It is written in my mother's Bible."
