War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

  ‘I don’t play. I’m too old to play.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going out anyway, and that’s it and all about it!’

  After another quick examination of the tear, Mary wondered whether Ruby could sew some pink silk flowers over it. There were some tiny ones in the sewing box, clipped from a dress one of them had worn as a child. She decided it was possible and went in search of her sister.

  The living room was her first port of call, the room where everything for the wedding, excluding the tins of ham and salmon, was being stored. It was also the room where Ruby had been making the blue dresses, pressing Dad’s shirt and suit, and the best linen tablecloths and napkins.

  The chair set in front of the treadle was unoccupied and the sewing box was nowhere in sight. The simple blue bridal dress was there, all finished and pressed. There was also a veil made from the lace Bettina had given her and some tulle Mary didn’t recall having seen before. Of Ruby there was no sign. Wherever the sewing box was, there Ruby would be found.

  Underwear, she suddenly thought to herself. She’s making me new underwear for my trousseau and keeping it a secret from me.

  She smiled and blushed at the thought of it. Underwear was becoming notoriously difficult to get hold of – especially pretty underwear, things made of silk and lace. It occurred to her that Ruby might have secretly got hold of some parachute silk and trimmed it with some of the leftover lace Bettina had given them.

  Mary sighed. If it hadn’t been for the tear in the dress, she wouldn’t dream of spoiling Ruby’s secret. But there was nothing for it. There was so much still to do before she got married and having to mend this dress was an extra burden that had to be dealt with promptly.

  ‘Ruby,’ she called again as she made her way upstairs.

  Yet again there was no response. If her sister was upstairs she’d probably fallen asleep, quite likely considering all the hours she’d been spending making clothes and getting enough supplies to make a wedding cake, plus carrying on sharing the workload of baking demonstrations they’d become so good at.

  She went into their bedroom. ‘Ruby?’

  There was no sign of her. The window was open, the yellow check curtains billowing in like sails in the soft draught. The next option was to ascend the flight of stairs leading to the attic rooms at the top of the house.

  That was when it occurred to her that there was a hand machine up in the attic, an old Victorian thing inlaid with mother of pearl. Despite its age it worked exceedingly well. And there was also quite a large dormer window throwing extra light into the room. Good light was essential to good sewing. All that sewing was bound to be making her eyes tired; in fact, hadn’t Ruby said just that the other night?

  The skirt of the damaged blue dress swung from her arm as she propelled herself up the second flight of stairs, the threadbare carpet deadening the sound of her footsteps.

  She called out before pushing the door open. ‘Ruby?’

  The doorknob was made of brass, though half the size of a standard one. It was as though it had been borrowed from a doll’s house, too tinny and small to get a good grip on it. It certainly wasn’t opening today, no matter how hard she tried to turn it or how fiercely she rattled the door. It was obviously locked, but from the other side.

  ‘Ruby!’ She hammered her fist on the door before attempting to turn the knob again. ‘Are you in there? Is everything all right?’

  Muffled shuffles and whispered exclamations came from inside the room. Then her sister saying, ‘Just a minute.’

  The key grated in the lock before Ruby’s flushed face appeared in the narrow gap. Her eyes were full of owlish surprise. The light from the dormer window streamed into the room behind her, but she kept hold of the door, keeping the opening to a narrow crack.

  ‘You locked the door.’

  ‘Did I?’ Her voice was small. She had been asleep.

  ‘Did you fall asleep?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I did.’ At first she sounded apologetic. Then her look hardened and her voice turned defensive. ‘I have been busy, you know.’

  Mary was taken aback and not a little hurt. ‘Yes. I know and I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it hadn’t been urgent. The fact is Frances decided to show her dress off. She caught the hem on the rose bush.’

  She held up the blue dress, using her finger and thumb to show Ruby the damage.

  Ruby groaned. ‘Better give it here. That little mare …’

  She held both hands out to take the dress. As she did so, the door she’d been holding, which always had been loose on its hinges, swung wide open.

  Cool northern light fell on to Charlie’s old desk and the ancient sewing machine sitting upon it.

  Mary’s eyes strayed beyond that to the white dress hanging from a coat hanger to one side of the window. She gasped. ‘Ruby!’

  ‘Oh Lord!’

  In no doubt that she’d been found out, her sister backed into the room, Mary following on. Then Ruby sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you had to find out some time or another.’

  Mary crossed the room slowly, her eyes as round as her mouth, her expression one of total surprise.

  Letting the bridesmaid’s dress fall into a heap on the bed, she went to the window. For a moment she stared, her mouth still agape. Slowly, very slowly, she reached out, fingered the tulle and delved beneath it to touch the shiny satin.

  For the sake of secrecy – at least from everyone else in the house if not from Mary – Ruby closed the door. Now she stood in the middle of the room wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

  ‘It’s our mother’s wedding dress,’ Mary whispered.

  ‘It was. It’s yours now. I cut it to fit and made it more fashionable. I think it looks lovely.’

  Ruby waited for the words of condemnation: you had no business doing this; you should have asked Dad; I don’t think I can possibly wear it.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Mary’s voice was like a soft breeze, hardly noticeable but very welcome.

  The words were like honey in Ruby’s ears, but Ruby knew very well that there’d be a price to pay. Nerves getting the better of her – at least temporarily – she bit her bottom lip.

  ‘I know I should really have asked Dad, but the more I put it off the harder it got. And you know what he’s been like of late …’

  Mary barely heard her. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said again, running her fingers over the bodice that Ruby had altered to fit closely to her body.

  ‘I think our mother would have wanted you to wear it. Under different circumstances, I think Dad would have wanted you to wear it too. But since our Charlie …’

  Mary nodded slowly. She couldn’t deny that it had been her dream to wear her mother’s wedding dress, not just because it was beautiful, but simply because it had been worn by her mother on her wedding day.

  ‘You’ve altered it beautifully.’

  ‘It was a bit old-fashioned. But even after all these years, the material is so good.’

  ‘I wonder what he’ll say. Dad’s been so …’

  Their eyes met in mutual concern. Before Charlie’s death their father would have been amenable to what Ruby had done. In the aftermath of their brother’s death there had been no smiles, laughter or cracking of jokes. He even frowned at anyone who laughed too loud. Ruby had once remarked that it was sometimes like living in a funeral parlour, not a bakery.

  Ruby shook her head. Her gaze moved overhead to the dormer window. Through it she could see puffball clouds rolling across the sky. ‘Such a waste not to use it. I’m sure Mum would have loved the idea.’

  Although neither of them had known their mother, they were in agreement. Any mother would love the idea that their dress would be handed on to their daughters.

  Ruby picked up a folded piece of material from a pile beside the sewing machine. ‘This is so soft.’

  She unfolded it and shook it out.

  Mary could see it was a piece of silk about three feet long and a foot wide
.

  ‘I’ve got pieces left over for baby clothes, even a christening gown.’ Ruby refolded the piece and put it back on the pile.

  ‘A baby! Goodness!’

  Although she should feel grateful, Mary eyed the remnant with misgiving. Oddly enough she hadn’t really thought about having a baby – not actually having it, giving birth to it – until this moment when Ruby had shown her the piece of silk. She knew how it happened, knew what a mother went through when the baby was coming, though only by word of mouth. She’d also seen the animals in the fields around them. Up until this moment she hadn’t visualised the actuality and faced up to the pain her body would be subjected to. The wedding night scared her most of all. She wasn’t too sure how it all came together. The best person to ask was her sister. Ruby seemed to know everything there was to know about men. But not now, she said to herself. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to her about it just yet. There’s plenty of time, she told herself. Plenty of time.

  ‘What will you tell him?’

  Ruby knew very well that her twin sister was referring to their father. ‘I’ll think of something. Don’t worry. I’ve got it all in hand.’

  She didn’t have it all in hand, but wasn’t about to get her sister as worried as she was. It had all seemed so straightforward. Carried away on a magic carpet of excitement, she hadn’t been too concerned that she had not asked his permission. Now though, after the event, the enormity of what she’d done finally hit her.

  ‘I think I should be there when you tell him. After all, I’m the one you did it for. Thank you, Ruby. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Somebody had to.’ She waved her hand as though it really was of no consequence when in fact it was far from it. ‘But don’t worry about it. You don’t need to be with me when I tell him. After all, it wasn’t your idea. You knew nothing about it. Yet again Ruby Sweet was her usual impetuous self! You don’t have to hold my hand when I tell him, though you can if you like. I reckon he’ll be fine if we stand together. If that’s what you want to do.’

  ‘It’s me that’s going to wear it – I hope.’

  Mary would keep to her promise. Obviously it would have been better if Ruby hadn’t touched the dress, though she had to admit to herself that the white dress was beautiful, a proper bridal gown and far superior to the simple blue one Ruby had made. She presumed that now there was a dress available, Ruby would become a second bridesmaid. It might have helped if Ruby had told her what she’d planned, but that was her sister. She’d always been headstrong.

  Ruby pointed out how many clothing coupons it cost to buy a wedding dress. ‘I don’t mind taking the blame. I know I shouldn’t have done it without telling you, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t regret it. Honest I don’t.’

  It wasn’t exactly the whole truth. Only now had it finally hit her just what she’d done. The consequences they could only guess at.

  Stan Sweet breezed in the back door of the building that was both his home and business premises with a spring in his step that he hadn’t had for ages.

  With the letter from the adoption society in his hand, and bursting to tell everyone the news, he was slightly disappointed to see only Frances in the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s our Ruby and Mary?’

  Frances had decided to maintain her pouting lips and soulful eyes, a tried-and-tested method of getting her own way – most of the time. ‘I don’t know. Don’t care either.’

  Stan Sweet was old enough and knew his niece well enough to realise that she’d had a telling off.

  ‘So what have you done? Go on. Tell me.’

  Frances pouted her lips so hard that it almost hurt and sniffed – just enough to make it sound as though she’d been sobbing.

  ‘Mary won’t let me out to pl— Meet my friends.’ She’d tripped over the word ‘play’. She wasn’t a child. She was quite adamant about that.

  ‘So go on. Tell me. What have you done?’

  She told him about showing her friends her bridesmaid’s dress.

  ‘You showed it to them? Then what happened?’

  Frances fiddled with a lock of hair, twiddling it and folding it across her lips as she looked away. ‘I had to try it on to show them. I had to let them see it floating around me, but …’

  Stan raised his eyebrows. Sometimes Frances amused him with her excuses, but sometimes she reminded him of Mildred, her mother. Though Mildred had never amused him. He’d never forgiven her for abandoning her daughter. Not that he’d regretted taking Frances into his home. One more youngster to bring up was neither here nor there seeing as he’d been left a widower to raise his own.

  ‘But?’ He raised one eyebrow as was his habit when he wanted an answer.

  Frances pouted. ‘When I twirled it got snagged on Charlie’s rose bush,’ she said.

  Stan fixed her with the sort of look that made her wither away from half-baked excuses.

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘So. You got it caught on Charlie’s rose bush.’ His voice caught in his throat, not so much with sadness as a hint of surprise. He put the letter from the adoption society in his coat pocket. His hand lingered there, his fingers remaining on it in an effort to reassure himself that it was real, that it existed and was not merely a trick of the imagination. Even now the feel of the letter sent a thrill of electric current up his arm.

  Frances noticed that her uncle was no longer frowning at her and seemed suddenly distracted, his gaze having wandered to the photo of Charlie on the mantelpiece. The photo had been taken on the quayside just before he’d embarked on his last voyage. It had arrived with the last letter he’d sent before going to sea.

  ‘Never mind.’ He smiled the sadness in his eyes tinged by something else.

  ‘Can I go out now?’

  He thought about it. ‘I think you need to stay. There’s something I need to tell you all. Something quite wonderful.’

  Frances looked puzzled and was only a little disappointed that she couldn’t go out to meet her friends. If he had something important to say and she was included, then she needed to be here.

  Stan patted the pocket into which he had placed the letter. He didn’t regard himself as a superstitious type of bloke, but the letter, the rose bush … one very big thing, one very small: perhaps someone was trying to tell him something.

  He was suddenly overwhelmed with a great longing to walk down to the churchyard and tell Sarah all about it. Perhaps he should do that first. Good Lord, he thought, I feel that confused and excited, like a kid at Christmas!

  In the process of setting his hat back on his head, he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs out in the hallway.

  Probably Ruby or Mary coming down to prepare supper. It was best that they were told first.

  ‘Uncle Stan?’

  Frances’s voice.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’ve got your hat on back to front.’

  He chuckled as he shook his head at the same time as taking off his hat and his coat, hanging them back up and preparing himself to tell everyone the wonderful news.

  ‘Can you keep a secret, Frances?’ He was positively beaming.

  Frances nodded. Her face was bright with curiosity.

  Stan gave her the letter to read. ‘Shhh!’ he said once she’d finished it. ‘Not a word. Promise?’

  Frances, her face shining with joy, nodded. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ she whispered. She sucked in her breath. ‘A baby? Charlie’s baby?’

  ‘Shhh!’ her uncle said again, placing a finger in front of his mouth.

  After that he found himself straightening his tie and pulling down his pullover so it sat better over his waistband. He was even in half a mind to polish the toe of each shoe against the back of his trousers. The announcement he was about to make was extremely important and somehow his appearance had to reflect that.

  Standing upright, like a newly conscripted and slightly nervous army recruit about to face his sergeant major for the first time,
he took a deep breath. This was it. He was about to make the announcement. He was so excited that his breath caught in his throat. He cleared it swiftly before the door between the kitchen and the hallway opened and Ruby appeared.

  Her lovely face was wreathed in smiles. Her cheeks were pink and there was something a little pensive about her expression.

  ‘Dad. We thought we heard you. I’ve got something to tell you … Me and Mary have got something to tell, well, show you.’

  Although he was bursting to tell all of them the news, something in her expression stopped him. Her eyes were bright and her heart-shaped face looked a little taut, almost as though she had something to fear.

  The other thing he noticed about her was that the hair on both sides of her head was tucked behind her ears. He hoped the style would be permanent because it would mean she had at last stopped being so touchy about her birthmark, the one feature that set her apart from her sister. Whatever was on her mind had caused her to forget her self-consciousness.

  ‘Never mind that. I’ve got something to tell—’

  It was all he had time to say before Ruby stepped to one side as she pushed the door open. ‘Dad. I hope you won’t be angry.’

  Stan’s jaw dropped.

  A vision in a white wedding dress stood framed in the doorway. On her head she wore a confection of satin bows, tulle and lace.

  His hand flew to his chest. His breath caught in his throat. Sarah, he thought, though of course it can’t be.

  ‘Dad?’

  Mary stepped forward, which meant he could see her more clearly.

  She’d argued with Ruby about doing this, but her sister had been adamant.

  ‘He has to see you. He has to see that we’ve done the right thing.’

  It was hard to judge. On seeing the look of astonishment on his face, Mary wondered if it might have been better for the pair of them to tell him rather than show what Ruby had done.

  Mary sucked in her breath. She loved wearing the dress but still, she dreaded his reaction whatever it might be.

  ‘He’ll be speechless,’ Ruby had said. ‘And anyway, even if he does rant and rave, it’s too late for me to sew it all back together.’