“Floss—”

“I’ve decided. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Evie went quiet. I returned the baby to the bassinet and with shaking arms, gathered up my things. The evaporated milk, the syringe, one diaper. I felt Evie’s eyes, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t do anything except what I needed to do. With my hands on the wool blanket that Elizabeth had knitted, I paused.

“Take it.”

The voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to Evie’s.

“Take it,” she repeated. “By the time he gets home, hopefully Bill will be far too drunk to notice it’s missing. You’ve got a long ride ahead. You’ll want to make sure she’s warm.”

Evie and I locked eyes.

“You’re right,” I said, taking the blanket. “Elizabeth told me once that he often remembers nothing from when he drinks. He probably won’t even remember that it existed.” I finished piling everything into my bag. When I looked up, Evie was staring at me. “What is it?”

“Elizabeth said that? That Bill blacks out?”

I nodded.

Evie seemed strangely contemplative. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She wandered over to her bag and pulled out some paperwork, then moved to the kitchen table. I picked Grace up out of her bassinet and went to stand beside her.

“Birth certificate,” she said, scribbling on the page. “It’s dated two weeks ago, so people don’t question why you’re out and about with a newborn.”

She seemed calm, in control. Much more than I was. She held out the page.

“What are you going to do, Evie?” I asked.

Evie’s eyes drifted over to Elizabeth, then down to the baby that was snuggled peacefully against me. “Same as you. I’m going to make sure Bill never gets his hands on that baby.”

*   *   *

It took over an hour to tell Grace everything, and while I did, she just listened, never once interrupting, flying off the handle, or dissolving into dramatic, disillusioned tears. I wished she would do that, or at least do something familiar to reassure me that she was actually still my daughter. Even though she wasn’t.

“So what did you do?” she asked. “Once you left the house?” Her words felt distant, as though they didn’t belong to her.

“I wrapped you up, wedged you in the basket of my bike and cycled faster than I ever had in my life. I reached the boardinghouse before sunrise, packed my things in the dark, and took the first train to London.”

“And then?”

“I went to my parents’ house. I told them you were born out of wedlock. They were Irish Catholic, and I knew it was about the only thing I could’ve said to get my father to cough up the money for the passage to America. An unwed daughter with a baby would’ve been a disaster. I stayed with them for two weeks, long enough to get a passport for you and me, and then they deposited me on the ship. And that was that.”

Grace was silent for a long time, perhaps longer than she’d ever been in my company. As she sat, her fingers trailed up and down her legs, dragging the fabric of her long skirt with them.

“Why didn’t Evie take the baby? Take … me.”

The question baffled me. In all these years, the idea had never occurred to me.

“I’m not sure. Evie was engaged, I suppose. She couldn’t just turn up overnight with a baby. But I was single. I was able to move far away. No one knew I’d even been at Elizabeth’s house that night. Evie was her midwife, I’d just gone as a favor to Elizabeth. I suppose it made sense.” I frowned, trying to think about it more. “It sounds strange, I suppose, but I think … in both of our minds … the second Elizabeth died, you became mine.”

There was a tiny lift in Grace. So tiny, most wouldn’t even have noticed. I liked to think it was something that only a mother would notice.

“What happened when my father got home and found his wife dead and his baby missing?”

“For a long time, I didn’t know,” I admitted. “It took me two years before I dared to write to Evie. Six weeks later, she wrote back.”

“And?”

The letter was still in the front pocket of my purse and I plucked it out. “I think this contains the answers you’re looking for, dear.”

Over the years, I’d become pretty good at knowing what my daughter was thinking. But as Grace looked from the letter to me, then back again, the skill deserted me. I watched as she opened it. Though I knew its contents by heart, I read along over her shoulder.

Dearest Floss,

After two years I had all but given up hope of hearing from you again. I was overjoyed to receive your letter, and to hear that you and Grace are healthy and well. I was also glad to hear that you’re still practicing midwifery. I wasn’t sure I’d continue myself after that night. I thought that with each new mother I’d see Elizabeth, and with each new baby, Grace. I blamed myself for Elizabeth’s death for a long time. But there’s something about what we do, isn’t there? Something about new life that helps to heal old wounds. I hope you’ve found it to be the comfort that I have these past years.

I hounded your poor mother for months after you left. The hardest part of not knowing was not being able to picture you and Grace. Were you walking along a beach somewhere? Rocking on a porch swing? Trudging through the snow? I realize, of course, that I’m not the only one with gaps in my knowledge. I’m sure you’ve wondered many times what happened after you pedaled away into the night with Grace. And as much as I am loath to revisit it, even in my memory, I believe it is necessary so all of us can finally close this chapter.

After you left, I bathed Elizabeth. I combed her hair and changed her linen. Perhaps it was silly, but after what Bill had put her through in life, I wanted her to have some dignity in death. A car pulled up just after sunup. The publican was driving Bill, and I could hear the singing from inside. I made sure my bicycle was out front, where it could be seen, then I slipped out the back door. Once Bill was inside and the car had disappeared over the hill, I cycled the two miles to the pay phone.

I told Sister Eileen that Elizabeth delivered a healthy baby girl before she died, and that I’d left her in the arms of her father. I also told her Bill was drunk and upset, and I was concerned for her welfare. Sister Eileen, Dr. Gregory, and Sergeant Lynch picked me up at that phone box fifteen minutes later. When we arrived at the house, Bill was nowhere to be seen. A search went out immediately, and he was found before breakfast, passed out, on the side of the road near Wharton’s Creek. Everyone assumed that he’d drowned the baby in his grief. I think Bill himself assumed that, as he didn’t dispute my version of events. For once, those blackouts that terrified Elizabeth served some good.

Bill was charged, but not convicted. Without a body or a witness, there wasn’t enough evidence. But everyone thought he’d done it. He had to leave town. Beating up on your wife was one thing, but drowning a baby daughter was more than a little place like Kings Langley could handle. I like to think that Bill got his dues, but who knows? The most important thing was that he didn’t get Grace.

It’s funny, I’ve probably watched over a hundred women become mothers over the years. But you should know that none stand out as much as the moment I watched you become one. The way you stared at her? The way you instinctively held her to your heart? Perhaps it’s an odd thing to say, but … it almost feels like she was yours all along.

Thinking of you both always,

Your friend,

Evie

“Is he—” Grace’s voice caught, but she cleared her throat and tried again. “—is Bill still alive?”

“No, dear. Evie wrote a few years ago to tell me he’d passed away.”

Grace nodded. Her face was dry. Blank. I could just about handle any emotion from her—and I’d seen many over the years—but no emotion was another story.