THE MORNING SUN teased at the horizon, reminding Emma that it was no longer Christmas.
Her breath came out in frozen puffs as she walked for what seemed like forever. Aunt Bess’s instructions to her estate had made the location seem close to the train station.
It was not.
Emma’s nose and fingertips were nearly frozen, though her body was uncomfortably warm and damp with sweat within her coat. If her feet ached before, they blazed with pain now.
Her plan had been to arrive stylishly dressed with a smile and a grand hug, a mother to make Olivia proud. Instead, she staggered up yet another blasted hill, having missed the most important holiday of the year, gritty with travel filth and miserably exhausted.
The home came into view, a whitewashed two-story building with a gray slate roof accompanied with a small red barn. At least she knew she was at the right place.
Thank heaven for small mercies.
Olivia was in that house. Only steps away. Emma quickened her pace, propelled onward by a mother’s desperation to reunite with her child.
A flurry of emotions swirled in her, playing off her fatigue to heighten her anticipation—the heartbreak of missing Olivia, the thrill of seeing her soon, the hollowness of realizing their time together would be far too short. Emma had to blink several times to regain her composure before rapping on the front door.
When no one immediately answered, she hesitated before knocking again. The hour was indeed quite early.
And yet that wooden door was all that separated her from her daughter. Emma banged again, harder this time.
Eventually footsteps sounded on the floor and energy shot through her, bringing her to attention. The lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a woman with white hair pulled back into a short braid no thicker than Emma’s pinky.
Gray eyes screwed up tight with disapproval. “It is too early for guests.”
The woman was already dressed in a blue shirt and skirt with an apron thrown over both. Clearly it was not too early for her to be awake and about. Just too early for her to have answered the door.
Emma pushed aside the irritable thought. “I’m terribly sorry.” She looked behind the woman as she spoke, half expecting—and wholly hoping—to see Olivia rushing down the glossy wooden staircase. “I’m Mrs. Taylor, Olivia’s mother. There was an issue at the train station. I’ve only just arrived.”
The woman studied her in a way that appeared entirely without compassion. “You missed Christmas.”
“As I said, I was unfortunately stuck at a train station with no way to arrive until now.”
“Olivia was very disappointed.”
Those words, stated so blandly and without a shield of kindness, struck Emma in the very rawest part of her chest.
“I’d like to see her.” Emma’s voice wavered with the overwhelming need for her child. “Please let me go to my daughter.”
“She’s asleep.” Even as the woman spoke, she pulled the door open in what would otherwise be a welcoming gesture.
Emma’s nerves hummed with eagerness. If the door hadn’t been opened for her, she would have shoved in. A mother should never have to beg to see her own child.
“Upstairs?” she confirmed.
The woman’s nod was barely perceptible, and Emma raced up the stairs. “Olivia?”
A door flew open and Olivia ran out, wearing a long-sleeved white nightdress Emma had never seen before, her hair a wild tangle of waves. “Mummy!”
Emma rushed, meeting Olivia halfway as she swept her into her arms and held her daughter for the first time in nearly four months. Every nerve ending in Emma’s body sang with relief. The feel of Olivia’s slender body still warm from sleep embraced in her arms, the softness of her hair, knowing she was safe and they were together again, it was more than Emma could bear in the most beautiful way.
Tears burned in Emma’s eyes as she drew her daughter back. “Let me look at you.”
Olivia blinked back her own tears and gazed up with so much love, Emma thought her heart might burst. As a smile spread over Olivia’s face, Emma realized there was no longer a gap of space at her eyetooth.
“Your tooth has nearly grown in,” Emma exclaimed.
“The other one is loose now.” Olivia flicked her tongue over the tooth, and it wobbled precariously, exposing a ruby-red portion of gum beneath.
Emma gave an exaggerated shudder and Olivia laughed, knowing how Emma found those wiggly teeth so unnerving.
“Olivia, dear, why don’t you get dressed while I make breakfast?” The woman’s voice came from behind Emma. “You can see your mother downstairs when you’re done.”
Olivia’s gaze went over Emma’s shoulder. “All right, Aunt Bess.”
So, the old woman was Aunt Bess. Given her rudeness, Emma had hoped the woman was simply a relative, or—given the fineness of the furnishings in the house—perhaps even a maid. The second floor alone was nearly twice the size of Emma’s small flat in Nottingham.
Was it really just the two of them living there?
“Will you join me downstairs, Mrs. Taylor?” Aunt Bess asked.
Emma turned reluctantly from her daughter, wishing for nothing more than to hold her close once more. To never let her go this time.
But there would be time to spare for that in the next two days of her visit. Emma gave Olivia a kiss on the forehead and followed Aunt Bess.
“Forgive my rudeness at your arrival,” Aunt Bess said as she led Emma to a kitchen with a large iron stove—likely the source of the pleasant warmth that made Emma’s icy nose and fingers sting. The counters were free of clutter and the parted ivory curtains over the large sink revealed a stretch of land as far as the eye could see. “You see, Olivia was quite upset yesterday. I fear I’m rather protective of her.”
Some of the tension knotting Emma’s shoulders relaxed and she pulled out a chair at the small dining room table. “I’m glad to hear she’s being so well cared for.”
Aunt Bess’s smile almost reached her eyes. “How did you say your train was delayed?”
A wary tightness threaded through the back of Emma’s neck once more. She hadn’t said how her train was delayed, as the sharp-eyed woman was well aware. While Aunt Bess moved around the kitchen, Emma patiently explained what happened with the soldier whose mother was ill and the unexpected events that followed.
At the end of the story, Aunt Bess smirked. “He pulled a fast one on you, didn’t he?”
Emma stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
The older woman set a steaming mug of tea in front of Emma. The brew was rich and dark, exactly what Emma needed after the ordeal of her travel. It almost made Emma like Aunt Bess.
Almost.
“The chap was likely off to marry his sweetheart or meet up with one of those tarts giving our boys a good send-off.” The chuckle Aunt Bess gave clearly demonstrated how little she thought of Emma’s intelligence.
Despite Emma’s resolve that she’d done the right thing, her cheeks burned with humiliation. Even if she had been swindled, she’d like to think her sacrifice had been worthwhile.
Olivia ran suddenly into the kitchen and launched herself into Emma’s lap where she lay her head on Emma’s shoulder.
Her hair smelled different—no longer of the subtle milk-and-honey, but an herbal fragrance like lavender and rosemary. The scent was not unpleasant, but nor was it familiar.
“I’m happy to have you here.” Olivia looked up with a grin, revealing that fully grown tooth once more, leaving Emma to wonder what else had changed about her child since she rode off on the bus with the other evacuees.
“After breakfast, you should show your mum all your presents.” Aunt Bess broke a couple of eggs into a skillet and threw a conspiratorial look over her shoulder at Emma. “A lot of the evacuees here have been getting knitted jumpers and the like. Not really a proper gift, I say. I wanted to ensure my Olivia had a lovely Christmas.”
Emma’s stomach sank right down to her aching, blistered toes. “Oh. How very thoughtful of you,” she stammered. “Thank you.”
It did not escape her notice that Aunt Bess referred to Emma’s daughter as “my Olivia,” and Emma’s hackles rose.
Olivia was her daughter. No part of Olivia belonged to this woman who clearly found Emma wanting in so many ways.
Breakfast was a hearty assortment of sausage, eggs, bacon, thick-cut toast with a slab of fresh butter melting over the golden bread, and all the tea Emma could stomach. With such a filling meal, she found the weight of her exhaustion crushing her eyelids closed.
She squelched a yawn. “Forgive me, I believe I must have a lie down.”
“After Olivia shows you her gifts.” Aunt Bess nodded at Olivia. “I know how excited she’s been.”
“Yes, please just a moment more, Mum.” Olivia pulled Emma’s arm to draw her up from her seat.
Already smiling at her daughter’s enthusiasm, Emma allowed herself to be tugged upstairs to Olivia’s bedchamber. The room was grand, with a brass bed adorned with a pristine white coverlet, and floral wallpaper that made the paintings of peonies on the wall stand out with a lovely vibrant pink.
“She gave me a proper dollhouse, with furniture and dolls and the whole lot.” Olivia sank onto her knees and gazed imploringly at Emma. “Will you play with me, Mum?”
“Your mum needs to rest,” Aunt Bess said from the doorway.
Emma spun around in surprise. She hadn’t even heard the other woman approach.
“But perhaps you’d like to receive your present from her first?” Aunt Bess nodded at Emma.
The elation of presenting Olivia with the red jumper Emma had spent so much time knitting now plummeted, weighed down by the flippant criticism cast by Aunt Bess.
Emma tried to wave off the idea. “That isn’t necessary—”
“Nonsense. You want your gift, don’t you, Olivia?”
“Please, Mum.” Olivia turned her large eyes toward Emma. “May I have my gift now?”
Emma’s full stomach churned. All she had was the jumper she’d knitted. What had seemed such a perfect present now felt paltry. At least Mrs. Pickering’s chocolate would be well received.
A hollowness ached within Emma as she offered a tight smile. “It’s in my suitcase by the door.” She pushed up to standing, all stiff legs and sore feet, and went to retrieve the paper-wrapped parcel.
She took her time returning upstairs with her simple present.
But Olivia clapped when she saw the gift and bounced excitedly where she sat in front of the grand dollhouse. “Thank you so much, Mummy. I know I’ll love it.”
Likely Aunt Bess would be smirking when Olivia opened her present. But Emma wasn’t looking at the old woman as Olivia carefully pulled back the printed paper; she was watching her daughter, the delight in her blue eyes and the anticipation on her face.
A flash of red came into view and Olivia sucked in a breath. The jumper came tumbling out of its wrap, the shoulders clutched in Olivia’s hands.
“You bought the jumper at Woolworths,” Olivia squealed.
“No,” Emma confessed. “I went to purchase it and they had none left. So, I knitted it instead.”
Olivia lowered the jumper and blinked. “You hate knitting.”
“But I love you,” Emma said tenderly. “I knew how much you wanted it.”
Tears shone in Olivia’s eyes and she hugged the jumper against her chest like something precious. “Thank you.” She leaped up and rushed to Emma, nearly knocking her over with the force of her embrace. In Emma’s ear, she whisper-breathed in perhaps far too loud a voice, “It’s the best present I’ve ever had.”
Emma held her daughter to her, grateful for every painstaking stitch and restitch she’d done on the jumper, and grateful Olivia was in a place that was loving and supportive.
She only hoped it wouldn’t have to be for much longer and that Olivia could soon return home.