Part 3Becoming Summer

Three days later, when the door finally opened, my legs were so weak I could barely stand. The sunlight was a physical blow, and the smell of food from the kitchen made my empty stomach cramp violently.

Leo pulled me into a corner and pressed a small bowl of warm broth into my hands. His own hands were trembling, his eyes red. “Kiddo, eat slow. There’s… there’s something I have to tell you.”

I looked up at him, my spoon halfway to my mouth.

“The missus… your mother… she’s pregnant.”

I froze. The spoon clattered against the bowl. Pregnant? Momma… was having another baby?

I remembered back in the shack, my mother’s belly had gotten big once before. I’d hidden and watched as she slammed her own body, again and again, against the sharp stone edge of the hearth, until dark red blood soaked through her pants and pooled on the dirt floor. I had been too terrified to even make a sound.

But this was different. Here, in this beautiful house, with Mr. Ashford, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore.

From that day on, everything revolved around my mother and the baby. Mr. Ashford was home more, his voice softer, full of a joy I’d never heard. The whole house smelled of rich, savory soups Mrs. Gable was always cooking.

Sometimes I’d sneak a glance from the backyard and see new, whimsical wind chimes hanging in the windows upstairs. It was all so beautiful, and so far away, like a story from another world. I could only listen to the muffled sounds of them discussing names, my hand drifting up to touch the prickly stubble on my scalp, a hollow ache in my chest.

I still couldn’t help but wonder. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it look like her, or Mr. Ashford?

My longing to see my mother grew stronger. I knew she hated the sight of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d hide behind drying sheets on the clothesline, or in the shade of a large azalea bush, just to catch a glimpse of her. She was gaining more weight, a healthy color returning to her cheeks. Mr. Ashford would walk with her in the garden, and sometimes she would look down at her growing belly, a soft hand resting on it.

Once, lost in thought, I wasn't hidden well enough. She sensed me. Her eyes swept the yard and landed on me. The softness on her face vanished, replaced by a mask of cold fury. She turned and practically ran back inside, slamming the glass patio door shut. The curtains were drawn, a final, definitive barrier.

A few days later, I heard her voice from upstairs, hysterical and weeping. “I can’t! I can’t stand it! I have nightmares just knowing she’s here! It will hurt the baby! You have to send her away! Send her so far away I never have to see her again!”

Mr. Ashford’s low voice soothed her. “Alright, alright, don’t get worked up. For the baby… whatever you want. I’ll have Leo arrange it.”

Leo came down to the basement, his eyes red-rimmed. He silently packed my small bag—two old dresses and my one-armed doll. He kept stroking my head, his voice choked. “Kiddo, you be good, you hear? You take care of yourself… I’m so sorry…”

I kept my head down. I didn’t cry. I was being thrown away again.

As Leo was leading me towards the back door, a new set of voices echoed from the front of the house. A striking, elderly woman with hair the same natural blonde as mine and eyes like blue jewels was being welcomed in. She was impeccably dressed, carrying a leather handbag, and laughing with Mr. Ashford.

We had to cross the hallway to leave, and our paths intersected. The old woman’s eyes landed on me instantly. She stopped, her blue eyes studying me with curiosity. “Oh? And who is this little angel?” she asked in a clear voice with a faint European accent. “Arthur, you didn’t tell me you had such a charming young guest.”

The mood in the room shifted. Everyone froze. My mother shrank behind Mr. Ashford.

“Aunt Isabella,” Arthur said, his voice strained. “This is our chauffeur’s adopted daughter. From the country. She’s a bit… unruly. We were just sending her back.”

The woman, Isabella, nodded thoughtfully. As Leo tried to pull me along, she raised an elegant hand.

“Well,” she said, her voice ringing with authority. “If you’re sending her away, you might as well send her to me. I quite adore her.”