Standing at the top of the driveway, Maura looked at the young child, who was completely silent. Billy’s eyes were squeezed tight shut, terrified to look and see this awful place he was going to. He began to shake and his eyes were filling with tears and spilling down his cheeks, no matter how hard he tried not to let anyone see. ‘Come along, Billy,’ was all Maura could think of to say. ‘They’re expecting us, and I’m sure there’ll be a lovely hot drink for you and something to eat.’ Billy couldn’t imagine anything he felt less like doing than eating. In fact, he thought he might be sick.
Maura didn’t know that the phone lines were down so her office hadn’t been able to contact Mother Superior. Nobody had any idea that they were on their way.
Billy’s legs were shaking and he stumbled more than once, trying to walk with his eyes shut. When the lady had told him about the orphanage, she had said, ‘Won’t that be nice?’ Billy wasn’t sure that there was anything nice about it at all.
When they reached the bottom of the driveway he dared to open one eye, then the other. He had never seen such a huge house in his entire life. All those windows. To his left there was a wooded area with trees. To his right he saw a statue. Billy didn’t know what it was, yet some tiny spark of hope ignited inside him. Many before him had felt that too. He lifted his eyes to the stars – but it was no good. Mummy and Daddy weren’t there. He wasn’t sure he believed they were in the sky at all. They certainly couldn’t hear him because when he talked to them, they didn’t answer.
Maura hurried to the large oak door, rang the bell and waited. ‘Heavens, what an age they’re taking,’ she said, but Billy wasn’t listening. His eyes kept being drawn to the room the moon was shining into. He began to tremble again as Maura once more put her finger on the bell and held it there. The sound made Billy jump, and once more he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
Inside, there were hurried footsteps at the frantic ringing of the bell. Mother Superior opened her door and joined Sister Mary Joseph at the large oak door. That was when they saw Billy for the first time. A young child, obviously upset and frightened, with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
The children’s officer and her charge were invited in and, after Mother Superior had explained about the telephone line, Maura told her that the child would have to be left in their care. She had all the paperwork and there was simply nowhere else for him to go.
Mother turned to Sister Mary Joseph, but she was already running upstairs to the nursery department. ‘Nancy,’ she was muttering. ‘We need Nancy.’
Mother started to tell her not to run but stopped when she saw the child open his eyes. Tears were trickling down his face yet he wasn’t making a sound. She thought it was one of the saddest sights she had ever seen, and she had seen many.
She invited Maura and Billy into her room and asked them to sit down. Maura opened her bag and took out some papers, wanting to get this over and done with so that she could get home to her nice warm flat. Billy sat quietly with his head down, his tears no longer running down his cheeks but dropping straight from his eyes onto the carpet. Mother breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the nursery door open and more hurried footsteps.
A moment later, Nancy walked straight into the room.
‘Thank you for knocking, Nancy,’ Mother said, but the sarcasm went straight over her head.
Nancy looked at her. ‘Parents?’ she mouthed. Mother slowly shook her head.
Maura had stood up to leave, but Nancy took no notice of her. She went to Billy, knelt in front of him and lifted her apron to dry his tears. Billy looked into the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. So soft, gentle and kind. The lady was smiling at him but not speaking. He liked that. He didn’t want to talk.
Maura cleared her throat but nobody spoke. Mother was watching Nancy weave her magic, not for the first time, but it never failed to amaze her.
Maura was now tired and fed up. She had done what she came to do and she coughed again. ‘I must be on my way,’ she said. She looked at Nancy. ‘Just needs taking out of himself,’ she added, pulling on her gloves.
There was quite suddenly an icy silence. Nancy stood up and went over to Maura. Those soft and gentle eyes were now cold and hard as ice. ‘Excuse me, taken out of himself? Oh, well, I’m glad that’s all there is to it.’
‘Well, erm, I just meant …’
‘Yes, go on, do tell me,’ said Nancy, coldly.
Mother Superior swiftly stood up and hustled Maura out of the room, thanking her for bringing the child and promising to sort out the necessary paperwork. They’d speak on the phone when the line was back in order.
Billy was watching Nancy and had stopped crying. She didn’t seem scary at all and she was really nice and clean, not at all dirty like he had imagined. She reached down, scooped him up in her arms, then placed her hand gently on the back of his head, easing it down onto her shoulder. She felt his lips quivering on the side of her neck. She held him perfectly still for a few moments, then slowly rocked him from side to side.
Mother Superior watched Nancy carry the child up the parlour stairs in total silence to where Sister Mary Joseph was waiting in the nursery doorway. She had already prepared hot milk and biscuits for him, and a bed had been freshly made.
Nancy sat in the little kitchenette at the top of the stairs and put the radio on. ‘Songs add a little warmth I always think,’ she told Billy. She sat him on her magic knees and wiped away the last of his tears with the corner of her apron. ‘There now, drink your milk,’ she said, expecting to be obeyed, ‘and we’ll all have a biscuit.’
Sister Mary Joseph smiled at Nancy. ‘Our favourites, do you think, Nancy?’
‘Oh, indeed I do! Maybe even …’
‘Not the chocolate ones. After all, they’re for the very best occasions.’
‘Mm, you have a point, Sister. Let me think.’
Billy was watching them, fascinated, as he sipped his milk.
‘Yes, Sister, I really do think this calls for the very special biscuit box.’
Sister Mary Joseph reached up into the kitchen cupboard and lifted down the chocolate biscuits. ‘Now, Nancy, how many do you think?’
‘Half a biscuit each, would that be sufficient?’
They looked at Billy, who shook his head ever so slightly.
‘Very well then. One each,’ said Nancy.
‘Surely two biscuits, don’t you think, Nancy, as this is a very special occasion?’
‘Three!’ Billy shouted, then clapped his hand over his mouth.
Nancy burst out laughing. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Three it is.’ She hoped fervently that they wouldn’t make him sick.
Billy drank his milk and ate his biscuits. Never before had he been allowed three biscuits before bedtime.
‘Heavens above,’ Nancy said, ‘I’ve never seen biscuits gobbled up so quickly and not a crumb dropped. You’ll eat us out of house and home at this rate!’
There was a small movement that Nancy did not miss. Little Billy had very nearly smiled. Nancy gave him a quick hug. ‘Come along, darling,’ she said, and they left the kitchen to walk along the corridor. Billy stopped as they passed the television room and peered out of the window. He glanced at Nancy, then turned back to the window.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Billy let go of her hand, ran to the window and looked out.
Nancy turned off the big light, switched on the pretty Christmas-tree lights and went to stand behind him. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders and followed his gaze to the stars in the sky. Words were pointless, she knew, but one day he would tell her all about it. She had never failed a child yet and she wasn’t about to start now.
Down the corridor in the little kitchen, the radio continued to play and a choir was singing ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ as the first flakes of snow fell onto the roof of Nazareth House.
Billy looked up at Nancy and smiled.
Her fingers touched the rosary beads with the Holy Cross
that always lay in her apron pocket. She too looked up to the sky. ‘Nice timing,’ she said.
Snow at Last
The next morning, there was great excitement when the children discovered not only the snow but a new little boy in the nursery department. Nancy watched as they gathered around him, telling him about the playroom and asking what his favourite toys were. ‘Trains,’ he whispered. Sometimes it was the children themselves who helped ease the little ones into their new life.
Billy was smiling now but since that one word in the kitchen last night he had not spoken again until now. Oh well, it was Christmas in a few days and that would be a distraction for him. Nancy was sure there must be a toy train somewhere and promised herself she would have a look. This morning she’d wrap the little ones up warm and they could go out to play in the snow. Then this afternoon she’d get her treasure trove box out and they could make some more decorations. Nancy had all these thoughts running around her head as she prepared breakfast for the children. She’d find a special part for Billy in the nativity play on Christmas Eve. They were having a practice next week; she would think of something. In the meantime, tomorrow they would all go to the chapel to practise their carols. All of the children loved singing. Surely that would help cheer up the poor little mite.
‘Usually Nancy’s magic has worked by now,’ Sister Mary Joseph told Mother Superior. ‘The little lad still hasn’t spoken.’
‘His grief is deep, Sister,’ Mother Superior replied. ‘I fear it may take more than a little hot milk and a few biscuits to bring happiness back to his heart. Nancy will know what to do, and we can pray.’
Sister Mary Joseph made her way up to the nursery to help put hats, coats, scarves, outdoor shoes and gloves onto thirty-two children, which was no mean feat. It took nearly half an hour, and the noise as they clambered down the stairs that led to the garden could be heard in the chapel, where Mother Superior was praying quietly.
Mother thanked the Lord for the kindness of the people in the north-east. Every child will receive a present this year and today she had received a letter saying that a local company would like to put on a Christmas party for them at the orphanage. Even Santa would be there. Mother was so grateful. The children would be thrilled. Hopefully, this would cheer little Billy up.
She bent her head and carried on in silent prayer, thanking God not only for the gifts but for Nancy, who never asked for anything for herself. Not for the first time Mother wondered if she expected too much of Nancy. She felt distracted this morning. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her prayers. Suddenly she heard the children coming down the stairs and Nancy’s voice shouting to them to be careful. Then came squeals of delight as they ran outside to play in the snow. Mother could see Nancy in her mind’s eye, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as she ran around with them, loving every single moment of it. Her heart warmed and her mind wandered. Heavens above! she thought. This will never do. Once more she bent her head in prayer, but she was smiling.
Out in the garden, just as Mother had imagined, Nancy was chasing the children around the great oak tree. The tree had been there as long as anyone could remember. Later in the year the children sat beeneath its great branches, had picnics, gathered conkers and, on very special days, Nancy sat with them telling stories of magical adventures. Nancy, with a twinkle in her eyes, told the children it was a magic whispering conker tree and if you placed your hands on the great tree trunk and listened very carefully it would tell you stories.
The snow lay thick and as the children’s voices carried all the way around the grounds, the tree looked on and shook in the breeze, its branches covering the children with snow, making them squeal even louder with excitement. Billy stood in the middle of the playground watching the children, stopping to look upwards every now and then.
What was it with the sky? Nancy wondered. She could help if only he would tell her what was bothering him. Yet she had the feeling Billy could not be hurried. He would tell her in time. Maybe he would tell Santa at the party. She hoped fervently that he would be talking by then. She left the children running around, went to him and took his hand. Together they began to make a snowman and his eyes were shining. He was even smiling, but still not talking. Nancy chatted to him, telling him about the party and how excited the children were about the nativity play.
After lunch, the children played with the bits-and-bobs box, making decorations for the nativity. Yesterday Nancy had been upstairs in the attic and brought down the box of figures for the crib. She had taken care of them lovingly. She had never forgotten December 1945 and how it felt to be back home: she had been evacuated to Carlisle with the children to be at a safe distance from the bombing. That was the first Christmas after their return and it was hard to tell who was the most excited, Nancy or the children. The chapel was once more full of happy children, alongside the crib, the Star of Bethlehem above the stable, Joseph with the wonky head and the three-legged donkey. Nancy had never seen anything so wonderful in her entire life and she would never forget it as long as she lived. Many offers had been made to buy a new set of figures but Nancy was adamant in her refusal. Every year out they came a little more battered and glued together than they had been the previous year. They were perfectly wonderful; ‘Nancy’s treasures’, everyone called them.
This afternoon the children were covered with glitter and glue but, most important, little Billy was joining in. They would have the last of the decorations ready before it was time for carol practice. Nancy tipped out the bag in her hand onto the table. ‘Now then,’ she said, ‘who wants to help make the Christmas stars?’ Lots of the children jumped up excitedly, but Billy burst into tears.
Nancy did all she could to stem the flow as she sat him on her knee and rocked him back and forth. What on earth was it with the sky and the stars? ‘I know,’ she said, suddenly thinking about the nativity play and how he could take part. ‘Listen, Billy,’ she said. ‘I’ve just thought of something special that you could be in the play. It’s not something everyone can do. It’s an extremely important job.’ She saw that she had his attention and he had stopped crying.
‘Billy, are you listening to me?’
He nodded.
‘Oh, I forgot! Billy, you have to be able to smile. Could you try that for me?’
Billy looked up at her and gave her a very small smile, which melted her heart.
‘Well now, Billy darling, how would you like to be the Bethlehem Star?’
Little Billy Miller’s screams could be heard all along the orphanage corridors.
The Boy Who Could Not Sing
Sister Mary Joseph had looked everywhere for Nancy. It was unusual for her not to be exactly where she always was, in the nursery. Sister Mary Joseph knew Nancy was upset at what had happened that afternoon. It had taken quite some time to calm Billy down, and in the end he had cried himself to sleep. Nancy had sat on the edge of his bed, stroking his hair, until she was sure he was settled.
Her heart was heavy as she made her way to her own bedroom at the end of the corridor. She loved her room. The window looked out onto the chapel roof and the bell that rang every morning at six o’clock. To the left of the window stood a large built-in cupboard full of Nancy’s treasures and her very special button box. To the right there was a large wardrobe where her clothes hung in perfect order. Her bed, with the pretty blue counterpane, stood in a corner. A small table occupied the middle of the room, with a chair at either side. Today, Nancy’s eyes strayed to the dressing-table with the little holy pictures stuck on the mirror.
She sat on her bed and looked at them. ‘I give up,’ she told them. ‘I have no idea what to do. Heavens above, the things I’ve had to do over the years, the ideas I’ve had to come up with. Magical singing ironing boards, mermaids, enchanted clocks. Never have I let a child down, ever.’ Nancy began to feel sad. ‘Come on then,’ she said to her pictures, ‘give me a helping hand. It’s Christmas, a time for magic and miracles, so get on with it please.’
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br /> It was getting dark and Nancy had no idea how long she’d sat in her room feeling sorry for herself. She lifted her apron and dabbed at her eyes, then went down to the chapel. As she passed she heard the children in the dining room having tea. Sister Mary Joseph was an angel, she thought. Nancy never had to tell her how she was feeling or what needed to be done. They had lived and worked together so long there was no need.
Nancy opened the chapel door and closed it quietly behind her. Only the altar lights were on and some candles were flickering in the darkness. She made her way over, lit another candle, then went to kneel at the altar. She didn’t bend her head in prayer, instead she looked directly up at the Cross of Our Lord. ‘Help me,’ she said. ‘You’ve never let me down before. Please don’t let me down now. This child has nobody. He has lost his parents and grandmother. There is absolutely no one else. He looks to the sky constantly and I need to know why and, dear God, please tell me what I said to upset him today. I’m failing him, Lord.’ She stayed for a while in the chapel, then returned to the nursery. When she got there, she found that Billy had woken and Sister Mary Joseph had given him his tea. He seemed a little happier.
She was determined that she would find a way to persuade little Billy to tell her what was bothering him. The children had all had a wonderful time today, and were now about to go to the chapel to practise their carols. Music always cheered people up, Nancy thought. Billy walked with the other children into the chapel and took his place alongside them by the altar.
The Puppy and the Orphan Page 2