Lizzie and the Lost Baby

by Cheryl Blackford

  Granddad Ambrose held out his hand. “That’s enough. We’ll hear what the girl has to say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LIZZIE

  BILL GLOWERED AT LIZZIE, but Elijah’s grandfather spoke gently. “We’d take it kindly if you’d tell us how you found our Rose.”

  Lizzie ran her tongue over her dry lips. She explained how she’d heard something crying in a field. She told how she’d gone to investigate the sound and been shocked to find a baby instead of the animal she’d expected. “The baby was all alone and she was crying. She was cold, so I took her to Elsie’s.”

  How could she explain so they’d understand why Elsie had kept the baby—so they’d know she wasn’t a bad person?

  “Elsie’s baby, Alice, died last year, and that made her really sad. Fred says Elsie’s mind plays tricks on her because of that. Elsie thought your baby was Alice, even though Alice is dead.”

  It sounded incredible, even to Lizzie. She looked at Elijah’s mother, willing her to understand, but the woman only cradled Rose and frowned.

  Bill’s angry interruption startled Lizzie. “This is a load of codswallop! I want to talk about the lad.”

  “You’ll get your turn soon enough,” Elijah’s grandfather said. “Let the lass speak.”

  “Colonel Clegg said you left the baby on purpose. He said you didn’t deserve to have her. He said Elsie could keep her.”

  A man leaped to his feet. “Gorgios think they can do whatever they want. What gives them the right?”

  Elijah’s grandfather responded, “That’s enough, Jeremiah. Don’t frighten the girl.”

  The man sat down as quickly as he’d jumped up.

  “Lizzie went against them others. She helped me get Rose back. She was brave,” Elijah said.

  Warmth tingled in Lizzie’s toes and spread up her body until her face flushed with it. No one had ever called her brave before.

  “Do you know owt about what happened with Bill?” Elijah’s grandfather asked.

  “Elijah told me Bill made him leave Rose in the field. He said Bill wanted Elijah to go and catch rabbits with him.”

  “She just wants to get Elijah out of trouble, Ambrose. She’ll say whatever the lad told her.” Bill’s expression hardened. “I never said owt before because I didn’t want to upset Vi, but her boy’s no good. He’s a Gorgio-lover. Thinks he’s too good fer the likes of us. He’s a wrong un.”

  Elijah’s cheeks blazed red. “You’re the wrong un. You blackmailed me and lied about it.”

  “You’re the liar!” Bill thundered.

  Elijah’s mother’s determined voice cut through the anger. “I asked you before and you didn’t answer, so I’ll ask you again, Bill.” She stood and faced him with Rose in her arms. “Did you make Elijah leave Rose in that field?”

  All the bluster left Bill. Guilt was written in his sideways glance; he didn’t need to answer.

  Elijah’s mother spat at his feet. “You’re a disgrace. I’m a married woman. Not fer all the coal in Yorkshire would I ever take up with you!”

  A circle of solemn faces looked toward Elijah’s grandfather. He focused on Bill. “There’s been many a cold night when we’ve supped on rabbit you caught and listened to yer fiddle, Bill. But you’ve a mean streak and trouble follows you. Elijah’s dad’s off at the war, and you took advantage of that. You should be ashamed. When you blackmailed our Elijah and harmed the babby, you went too far.” He pulled back his shoulders. “You wronged our Vi, and you wronged Elijah. Since his dad’s not here, Elijah will choose yer fate.”

  Elijah stared Bill down. “I say we shun him.” His voice was strong and firm as he pointed toward the gate. “Bill, leave us and don’t never come back. You’re dead to us.”

  “You can’t shun me. The others’ll not agree,” Bill said.

  Granddad Ambrose circled his arm around Elijah’s shoulder. “When we get to the fair, we’ll tell the others what you did. If I was you, Bill, I’d get far away from here as quick as you can.”

  “I’ll settle up with you and yours one day, Ambrose,” Bill said. “You’d best keep an eye out fer me. And so should she; I’ve a debt to pay her, too.” He stabbed a finger at Lizzie.

  The silent group watched as Bill led his horse through the rutted mud by the gate. He climbed up onto his wagon, turned, and raised his hand in an obscene two-fingered gesture. Then he shook the reins and moved off in the opposite direction to the village. The metallic sound of hoofbeats faded as he crested the hill and disappeared from view.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  LIZZIE

  THE GROUP of solemn Gypsies dispersed quietly. Lizzie was unsure what to do next. If she went back to Elsie’s, she’d have to face Madge.

  Elijah’s mother climbed the yellow steps up to her wagon and opened the door. “Come on in, love. You look like you could do with a cuppa.”

  Lizzie followed her, removing her shoes and setting them side by side on the narrow porch before stepping over the threshold.

  The cozy wagon wasn’t any bigger than their bomb shelter at home, but whereas the shelter was filled with stark furnishings—such as camp beds and a portable stove—the wagon was homey and cheerful with bright cushions and rugs.

  Lizzie squeezed between a little cabinet filled with pretty gold-rimmed china and a small black stove with a chimney pipe that poked up through the arched ceiling.

  “Sit yerself down while I get the kettle on,” Elijah’s mother said, pointing to a chest beside a narrow oblong table.

  Lizzie sat on a cushion on the chest and peeked through the lace-curtained window. She half expected to see Fred marching back to get her or, worse, Bill. But she only saw Elijah’s grandfather tying a bicycle to the side of his wagon and a woman packing up cooking pots.

  Elijah perched opposite Lizzie on a three-legged stool while his mother laid Rose on a raised bed at the other end of the wagon and tucked a blanket around her. There was only one bed. Did they all sleep in it? And where did they bathe? Or eat their meals? Or go to the toilet?

  It would be rude to ask, so Lizzie stayed silent.

  The kettle’s shrill whistle pierced the quiet. Rose threw her little arms in the air, but then sighed and went back to sleep. A curl of steam drifted from a sturdy brown teapot as Elijah’s mother filled it with hot water.

  “I’m sorry I took your baby,” Lizzie blurted. “I didn’t know it would cause all this trouble.”

  Elijah’s mother paused in her task of pouring the tea. “Don’t be sorry, pet. You did the right thing. You protected our Rose. It was them grownups were wrong. I don’t see as how anyone could steal a babby. Some Gorgios think they can do anything.”

  Elijah smiled at Lizzie. “Lizzie’s a Gorgio and she’s not bad.”

  “Aye, she’s different from most of them.”

  “Why is it so bad for a Gypsy and a . . . Gorgio . . . like me to be friends?” Lizzie asked.

  “Most settled folk hates us. Even their bairns throw stones at us,” Elijah’s mother said. “It’s best we stay separate. We have our customs. You have yours. The two don’t mix.”

  Lizzie thought of the nasty things Mrs. Sidebottom, Madge, and the colonel had said about the Gypsies. It must be horrible if everywhere you went people called you names.

  Elijah’s mother gently interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts. “Them folks that came here, are they yer family?”

  Lizzie spoke quietly. “No. We’re evacuees. We have to stay with them until the war’s over.”

  “Where’s yer own mam and dad, then?”

  “Daddy’s in the army, and Mummy’s at home in Hull. We had to leave because of the bombs, but Mummy wasn’t allowed to come with us.”

  “Well, yer mam an’ dad can be proud of you,” Elijah’s mother said.

  Lizzie sipped her tea. Its comforting warmth seeped into her. For the first time since arriving in Swainedale, she felt as if she was in a real home; but even though she wanted to, she couldn’t stay—Peter would wonder what h
ad happened to her. She didn’t think Fred, Madge, or even Elsie would care.

  “I’d better go now,” she said, putting down her empty mug.

  “Come and say goodbye to Rose before you goes,” Elijah said

  Rose sucked on her thumb as she slept. Her eyelids were as translucent as shells, and her dark hair curled over her delicate ears. Lizzie kissed her index finger and touched it to the baby’s downy-soft cheek. Without her giggles and the silly nursery rhymes that Peter sang to her, Elsie’s house would seem gloomier than ever.

  Elijah’s mother held out a carved wooden flower. “Take this. Ambrose makes them. It’s not much, but it’s summat to remember us by.”

  The flower’s white petals surrounded a bright yellow center, just like the daisies in Mummy’s garden. “Thank you. It’s lovely,” Lizzie said, holding the flower in front of her as if it were a whole bouquet.

  She followed Elijah down the wagon steps and asked, “What will you do now?”

  “We’ll go to the fair. If we travel fast, we’ll be there fer the last day. I want to see who bought my horse, my Lady.”

  Elijah tilted his head to one side and studied Lizzie. “You could come with us if you want. We can always make room fer another. You don’t have to live with them folks.”

  Go with the Gypsies? Live in a home on wheels? Be a part of his family?

  Lizzie tried to imagine that life. “If I come with you, my parents won’t know where I am.” And what about Peter? She couldn’t leave him on his own.

  Elijah nodded, as if he’d known that would be her answer.

  “Will you come back here after the fair?” she asked.

  Elijah’s dark curls bounced over his eyes when he shook his head. “Not blooming likely. That policeman’ll have it in fer us, and Mammy’ll never trust this place again. But I’ll not forget you, Lizzie. You’ve been a good friend.”

  He fished something out of his pocket. “Take this fer luck.”

  Lizzie curled her fingers around the cool curve of Rose’s horseshoe. She couldn’t speak. She stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, then turned and ran down the lane.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  LIZZIE

  LIZZIE TUCKED the horseshoe into her pocket. Her stomach heaved at the thought of facing Madge, and she slowed to a walk as she began the trek back up the dale. When she reached the row of houses, her meager supply of courage deserted her, and she hovered by Elsie’s back door, holding her wooden flower.

  The window curtain twitched and then the door opened.

  Madge stood on the mat blocking the way. She screwed her eyebrows together and pursed her mouth. “It’s about time you turned up.” Then she stepped aside to let Lizzie in.

  The small kitchen seemed to be full of people and all of them angry at Lizzie. She took one step forward and stopped.

  Peter broke the thick silence. “Elsie wants Alice back.”

  How could he still not understand?

  Lizzie snapped at him. “The baby’s Rose, not Alice. She’s with her real family now.”

  But she regretted her sharp response when he hung his head and scuffed his foot against the tiles. His big toe poked out of a hole in his sock; Mummy would have mended a hole like that.

  Words burst from Madge in an angry staccato. “After everything we did for you, this is how you pay us back.”

  Spittle collected at the corner of her mouth. “Never in my life . . . deceitful . . . you should be ashamed . . . wicked . . .” More words buzzed like wasps trapped in a jam jar.

  “You made us tell lies. You’re the wicked one. You’re the one who should be ashamed.” Once she’d begun, Lizzie couldn’t stop. “Grownups are supposed to know what’s right and wrong. You tried to steal Rose from her family, and you made us lie about it. That’s wrong!”

  Lizzie’s chest heaved. For a moment, she struggled to breathe. She gripped the edge of the table for support. “I hate it here. I hate you. When I tell Mummy and Daddy what you’ve done, they’ll report you. You should be put in jail.”

  Peter whimpered and moved closer to Elsie. She was a statue—as still as the stone cross on the moors. Her eyes were blank holes in her pale face.

  Madge’s face was purple with fury now. “How dare you speak to me like that? We took you in because there’s a war on and we all have to do our bit. I should have known no good would come of it. You’re an ungrateful little madam.”

  “And you’re a mean old bat!”

  Lizzie sucked in her breath. Surely she’d gone too far now.

  “Now, then, let’s all calm down,” Fred said. “We don’t want to do something we’ll be sorry for later, do we?”

  His mouth flattened into a line, and his face turned somber. “The Good Lord knows I’m no friend of the Gypsies, but I reckon that baby’s rightfully theirs. I should’ve said that a long time ago. Could’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”

  Madge’s voice shook. “I don’t want our Elsie back the way she was.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-fringed handkerchief. “The colonel can find these two somewhere else to stay. He can shove them in an orphanage for all I care. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

  The words were harsh and bitter, but the tears—the tears were unexpected. Was Madge crying out of anger? Or sadness? Or fear for Elsie?

  Fred circled his arm around Madge’s shoulders. “Lizzie’s just a child, love. Leave her be. She’s had a lot to cope with, being sent away from home and all. She did the right thing, even if that pig did make a mess of my garden.”

  Elsie suddenly focused her gaze on Madge. Veins stood out like ropes on the backs of her thin hands as she reached out and stroked Peter’s spiky hair. Her voice was a whisper. “I want them to stay, Madge. There’s life in this house while they’re here. I can’t stand the quiet again.”

  Madge pressed her lips together.

  “Lizzie was right about the baby. We shouldn’t punish her for that.” Elsie’s voice was stronger now.

  Madge stared hard at her sister. When she spoke, her words were brusque. “This is your house. You can do what you want. Don’t come running to me when they get in trouble again.”

  But the faintest curve of a smile played over her lips. Even more surprising than the smile was the slight reassuring pat that Madge gave Lizzie’s shoulder as she crossed Elsie’s kitchen.

  Baffled, Lizzie watched Madge march past the kitchen window toward her own back door.

  Fred winked. “She’s not a bad old stick. She’ll come ’round. You’ll see.”

  The door banged shut behind him.

  Elsie unfolded her lean body and pushed herself up from her chair. She wrapped her arms around Lizzie and squeezed. “Don’t mind about our Madge. She was only looking out for me.”

  Lizzie leaned into the hug and put her arms around Elsie’s thin waist.

  “You’re a good girl, Lizzie,” Elsie said. Then she filled a pan with water and set it on the stove. “Who’s hungry? I’ve a mind for a boiled egg.”

  When her egg was ready, Lizzie picked off tiny shards of shell and ate the glistening dome of white before dipping a strip of bread into the runny yolk. The taste of the first eggy bite was so familiar, it overwhelmed her with memories of her father reading the newspaper at breakfast and her mother frying bacon. She gulped and swallowed.

  “We’re going to have to see about school for you two,” Elsie said. “The village school’s not big enough for all the evacuees. I’ll have to ask Fred what arrangements have been made.”

  “Do we have to go to school?” Peter asked.

  Nodding, Elsie ruffled his hair.

  While Lizzie chewed her last bite of bread, the letterbox rattled.

  Elsie held out the letter she retrieved from the doormat. “It’s for you two.”

  Lizzie tore at the crackling envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  Dear Lizzie and Peter,

  I got your letter and I know you’re homesick. I’ll come and see you as soon as I can get a train ti
cket, and I’ll bring Nana with me. We’ll have a picnic and look at all those sheep you told us about.

  Lots of love, Mummy

  “I’ll take her to see Curly!” Peter said. “And the cows. And the sheep.”

  Lizzie thought about what she’d tell her mother— about Elijah and how she’d helped him rescue his sister. She’d done the right thing. She was sure of it now. Her mother would be proud. And Nana, too. That’s my girl, Lizzie. You showed them. That’s what Nana would say.

  Elsie interrupted Lizzie’s reverie. “Who wants to come to the shop with me? I’m almost out of tea.”

  Peter bounced up and down on his toes. “I’ll come. And can we go fishing, ’cos I haven’t done that yet.”

  Lizzie grinned. “We can fish from the bridge. Let’s bring Sam, too.”

  Glossary

  BAIRN: A child.

  BECK: A stream.

  BLACKOUT CURTAIN: A thick black window covering used during World War II to prevent any light inside a house from being seen outside.

  BOMB SHELTER: A protected place to shelter people during air raids. Anderson shelters, like the one in Lizzie’s back garden, were made out of corrugated metal panels and were partially buried in the ground and covered with soil.

  BRACKEN: A large fern, or group of ferns.

  COB: A big, strong, usually gentle horse bred to pull Gypsy wagons. Gypsy cobs are often white with black or brown spots. They have long “feathers” of hair flowing from their knees over their hooves.

  CRICKET: A game played with a flat-sided wooden bat and a hard ball. The batter scores runs by running between pieces of wood called wickets.

  DALE: A valley.

  DOUBLE-DECKER BUS: A bus with an upper and lower floor. The upper floor is reached using a staircase.