CHESTER APPEARED MUCH the same as when Emma was there five years prior, with its charming downtown area of medieval whitewashed buildings artfully framed with dark wood beams. The absence of glittering Christmas lights, however, cast a fitting shadow over the city. The Taylors’ farm was even more bleak, with a milky sky over a countryside blanketed in a dusting of white snow and the simple wooden house weathered to a flat, dark gray over the years.
Emma rapped on the door and the thunder of feet barreling in her direction meant Olivia had heard the knock. The door whipped back with enough force to send a waft of heated air toward Emma, carrying with it the aroma of cooking meat. Her mouth watered. The tea she’d had on the train had stopped tiding her over hours ago.
“Happy Christmas, Mum,” Olivia shrieked and threw her arms around Emma.
“It’s not Christmas for another two days.” Emma laughed and embraced her daughter. “Have you grown again?”
“I have.” Olivia stood back so Emma could look her over.
Indeed, she had grown at least another inch or so in the last four long months. And all her adult teeth had come in quite neatly, making her smile even larger in her sweet face. Best of all was the healthy glow to Olivia’s cheeks. There had been plenty of food for her as the farm provided an abundance of eggs, milk, vegetables, and even meat several times a week. More than she would have had access to in Nottingham.
“Soon you’ll be as tall as I am,” Emma declared.
Olivia giggled, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Don’t keep the door open too long now,” a masculine voice called, his Chester accent with a soft k and his th coming out like a d.
Olivia waved Emma inside, opening the door wider to a home that hadn’t changed so much as a curtain since she’d last visited. The furnishings were simple and impeccably clean, including the wood-hewn table and benches along either side that Mr. Taylor boasted he’d made with Arthur. Several chairs were near the fireplace, looking as worse for the wear as ever. But on a cold evening, being near the heat of the fire made one less critical of the ancient hard-backed wooden chairs worn smooth from use. A small table by the stairs was fitted with a single framed picture of Arthur, his dark hair combed back from his young face, reminding Emma of the man she’d met all those years ago after her father’s death.
Though Arthur had been gone for five years, and though their marriage had not been a happy one, she still experienced a nip at her conscience for her time with Charles. They had enjoyed several more outings together, the time spent in animated conversation as they each eagerly devoured everything the other said. As it was in a new and budding relationship.
Or at least the way Emma had read about in books in her younger years. She was only just now beginning to experience the reality.
“He’s so handsome.” Olivia closed the door behind Emma and went to Arthur’s picture, bending to study it with her hands reverently tucked behind her back.
Emma nodded. Because she had truly found Arthur handsome—there had been no doubt of his fine looks. If only that had been enough to make for a contented marriage.
Mr. Taylor emerged from the back room. “Emma, it’s good to see you again.” His hairline had receded some since her last visit, the dark strands streaked with glints of silver. His eyes were dark, like Arthur’s had been, and still keen with sharp intelligence.
“Thank you for inviting me.” She went to the older man and embraced him cordially.
He patted her back with his large hand, the action paternal and kind. “It’s been too long.”
She nodded, somewhat regretting the time she’d allowed to lapse since her last visit. But then she’d felt more welcome in these few minutes inside the Taylor residence than she ever had in the six months she and Olivia had lived there.
“City life suits you.” Mr. Taylor gave a wink that was almost convivial.
“I’ve never been much for farming.” Emma tried to mirror his friendly tone.
“Nan and Granddad told me all about it.” Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Like the time you slipped on a cow patty and fell in it. Or the time that pig escaped and you had to run after it and accidentally let the lot of them out because you didn’t latch the gate properly.”
The smile Emma plastered on her face felt as brittle as her sudden regret for staying away so long.
Surely Mrs. Taylor hadn’t mentioned how she’d made Emma scrub cow dung off her skin with snow and strip to her knickers before she could come inside. Nor would they have informed Olivia of how they’d made no effort to help her reclaim all the escaped pigs, or how hard Emma had worked to bring them all back.
Her time at the farm had been filled with constant disappointment and incessant castigation.
“Don’t give your mam too hard a time.” Mr. Taylor patted Emma’s shoulder. “She did her best.”
Emma turned to the older man, surprised at the note of support.
“Reg, I mended that part of your kecks.” Mrs. Taylor descended the stairs with a pair of trousers in her hands. She stopped short when she saw Emma, her face an expressionless mask.
“My mum is here,” Olivia sang out.
“I see that,” Mrs. Taylor said plaintively. “And I see you’re quite made up over it.”
Olivia was indeed happy, her face set in a wide grin as she folded her little hand into Emma’s.
“Thank you for coming.” The words seemed to pain Mrs. Taylor as she spoke them, and her lips pressed together in a flat line that Emma recalled well from her time living with them. The expression was one she’d seen often.
One of obvious disappointment.
“Thank you for having me,” Emma replied with more warmth than she felt.
“Why don’t you show your mother your room,” Mrs. Taylor said to Olivia before turning away to head back upstairs, Mr. Taylor’s trousers still clutched in her hand.
Her demeanor didn’t soften during Emma’s stay, with any requests directed through Olivia, who cheerfully did as her Nan asked.
Christmas was quiet, with Olivia receiving another chocolate bar Mrs. Pickering had managed to procure, along with a copy of Caddie Woodlawn Emma purchased for her, and a new pair of sturdy shoes from her grandparents. Emma had knitted her former in-laws scarves in a show of goodwill. Mr. Taylor had put his on, modeling it with a head tilt that set Olivia giggling, while Mrs. Taylor judiciously eyed the stitching on hers before setting it aside with a slight curl of her lip.
The four days Emma spent with Olivia passed quickly, filled with puzzles and talking about books as well as Emma sharing stories of her walks with Tubby and how Mrs. Pickering had been getting on with the WVS.
“One time, Tubby dashed halfway up a tree after a squirrel before I could call him back down,” Emma said.
Olivia had been in fits at that. “I know which tree you mean, the one just outside where the gate used to be.”
Emma laughed. “That very one.”
“I miss that tree.” Olivia was suddenly solemn, her brows drawing low. “I miss Tubby and Mrs. Pickering. And I miss you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Nan and Granddad are nice, and I love hearing stories about my father, and about us when we lived here since I don’t remember, but I want to go home.”
If the pleading letters Olivia wrote were difficult for Emma to bear, they were nothing compared to the agonizing stab of hearing those words spoken aloud in Olivia’s sweet voice. Everything inside Emma’s chest blazed with hurt and regret, a visceral blow of anguish to a mother’s heart.
“I wish you could come home,” Emma said gently. “But you must wait just a little longer.”
“How long?” Olivia demanded.
But Emma didn’t have an answer.
The day of Emma’s departure, Olivia wore her red jumper, the sleeves now creeping up her wrists.
“That jumper is too small for you,” Mrs. Taylor chided in her ever-critical tone.
Olivia hugged herself, curling her long, slender arms around her torso. “I love this more than any other piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. My mum made it for me.”
“Well, that explains a lot.” Mrs. Taylor’s cool delivery wasn’t meant to be flattering.
Despite her nasty demeanor, Emma wished she could stay in Chester just a little longer. For Olivia’s sake.
Those days laughing over memories in Nottingham, and hearing Olivia tell her about every book she’d read, from Little House in the Big Woods to Arthur’s old copy of The Swiss Family Robinson, all those beautiful moments filled the hole in Emma’s soul that had been empty in her daughter’s absence.
She hugged Olivia once more and released her with great reluctance. “I love you, Olive.”
Olivia nodded, eyes brimming with tears as Emma turned toward the door.
“Let me come with you,” Olivia said abruptly.
The silence in the room went thick, heavy with hurt each individual felt in their own way.
“Please.” There was a quiver in Olivia’s voice. “Please let me come home. I promise to be good. I’ll do well in maths. I’ll walk Tubby every day. I’ll help with making dinner. And the WVS, I can help at the children’s center again.” Her words were choked with sobs, her eyes a brilliant blue with her tears. “Please don’t leave me, Mum. Please. I love you. Don’t leave me.”
Emma knelt on the ground and pulled her daughter into a solid embrace, her own throat too tight to speak.
“You have everything you need here.” Mrs. Taylor’s voice was calm, but her cheeks were flushed with emotion over Olivia’s outburst. There was ice in her eyes as she glared down at Emma. “You coddle the child. You did before and you do it still now.”
“Being away from home is difficult for children,” Emma said gently.
“Yes.” Mrs. Taylor bit out the word. “It’s painful when a mother is separated from her child.” She threw the accusation like a snake at Emma’s feet, then marched away.
Olivia’s sobs filled the ensuing quiet.
“You can’t return home yet,” Emma soothed as she rubbed slow circles over her daughter’s back, fingertips gliding over each of those stitches she’d painstakingly knit with all the love she had for her daughter. “Hopefully the war ends and you can come home soon. But for now, you must be brave for me, yes?”
Olivia pressed her lips together so hard that her pointed chin jutted out, but she gave a nod, resolute and resigned.
“I’m sure your Nan can use a bit of the sugar ration for a pudding later.” Mr. Taylor winked at Olivia.
But the tears didn’t stop streaming down her face as she gazed imploringly up at Emma. “Please don’t leave me.”
The words settled on Emma like a sharp-edged stone and left her feeling as though she was abandoning her daughter. And in a way, she was—that was what hurt the most.
There had been more raids in Nottingham, including a recent one the month before that’d kept them all in the caves under the city for the entire night and left a wake of destruction in its path. With such dangers at home, how could Emma possibly allow Olivia to return?
“I love you,” Emma croaked. Then she kissed the top of Olivia’s head and rushed out before she lost her nerve.
Even as the door closed, Olivia’s cry for Emma pierced through the solid wood and directly into Emma’s heart.
“She’ll be fine in a day or two.” Mr. Taylor helped Emma into the cart. It did not escape her notice that he’d worn the robin’s-egg blue scarf she’d knitted for him.
Her luggage was already loaded into the back of the cart, the two horses harnessed and stomping with impatience, ears flicking at Olivia’s wails.
“I wonder if I’ve made the right decision.” Emma looked back at the house, where Olivia’s face was pressed against the glass windowpane along with both her palms, as if she could touch Emma from the distance between them. The window fogged with her gasping sobs, but still Emma didn’t turn away.
“As a parent, we can never know if we’ve made the right decisions or not.” Mr. Taylor spoke slowly, as though selecting his words carefully. He made a clicking sound and the cart lurched forward.
Emma waited until Olivia’s face faded into the distance and then turned back to Mr. Taylor. “I’m grateful to you for taking her in.”
“It’s our pleasure to do so.” Mr. Taylor rubbed a hand over his cap. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to write to us like you did. Or send her here for that matter.” His brow furrowed as he looked out in the distance. “Especially after how you were treated during your time with us, after we lost our boy.”
Emma chewed her lip, unsure of what to say.
“We were disappointed when Arthur left the farm.” Mr. Taylor sniffed and adjusted his elbows on his knees. “Thought we could force him to take this place on, the way I had from my father. But he left. First to London for university, then to Nottingham to work as a solicitor. He had just begun thinking about returning to Chester, and then he met you.”
Emma’s stomach dipped. “He stayed because of me?”
Mr. Taylor gave a single nod.
Arthur had never told her he’d been considering returning to Chester. If he had gone back to the farm, if he hadn’t married her—he would still be alive.
“It was his decision to make,” Mr. Taylor said, as though reading her thoughts. He cleared his throat, a great rasping sound in the clear morning air. “We also knew you weren’t happy in your marriage toward the end. Your grief was still too fresh when you married, we told Arthur that, but he didn’t listen. I know he loved Olivia, that he found joy in her, and it’s easy to see why. For our part, I’m ashamed to say that we blamed you. Unfairly. It wasn’t your fault. Took me meeting Olivia, seeing what a caring mother you are, to understand you for who you really are. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry Mrs. Taylor is still struggling to do the same.”
Emma wrapped her arms around herself, cradling a fresh ache blooming within her. How many times had she considered the mothers of soldiers who’d lost their sons? And yet she had been so scalded with hurt from the lack of welcome she’d received from Arthur’s parents after her stay with them that she hadn’t stepped back to consider them, the parents whose son had left home and never returned.
“I’m a mother.” Emma softened with empathy for Mrs. Taylor. “I understand.”
“You’re a good sort.” Mr. Taylor smiled at her. “Thank you for giving us this time with Olivia. I know we were likely a last resort, but we still love having her with us all the same.”
Emma returned his smile, genuinely glad she had given the Taylors a chance to know their granddaughter.
Regardless of the peace she’d found with Mr. Taylor and regardless of his promise that Olivia would recover in a few days, Emma could not set her daughter’s pleas from her mind. Never had she seen Olivia so heartbreakingly desperate.
Hopefully her patience would hold a little longer. After all, they were out of any other options, and Nottingham was still far too dangerous.