Ch 1- Three Choices
Glasgow, December 1901
"Shu, shu, shuuuu." Elsie soothed, bouncing her screaming son in her arms. "Shuuuu, there's no need to cry lad!"
Elsie stared out into the cold black night trying desperately to soothe her six-month-old baby as a thin layer of snow gently blanketed the icy stone covered street. It was dark in the tiny one-room home and mother and child had no warmth save the fire in the small hearth. It was barely enough to cook with, let alone to keep them warm.
"Shhhu Charles Bretton Hughes…do you want your mum to get in trouble?" She asked, a calm overcoming the boy's brown eyes even thought they still glistened with tears.
He shoved his tiny hand inside his mouth and looked up at her, seeming to understand her angst all too well. She hated seeing that look on his precious face. The one where he understood that he had to forego his own emotions, his babyhood, long enough to soothe his worried mother. It was unnatural. In those moments he seemed beyond his few months and almost stopped being a baby if that were possible…Worse: it was those moments when he looked most like his father and she couldn't stomach that.
Elsie paused, staring back at her baby, her eyes engaged with his in a kind of understanding only obtained by the greatest of hardships.
"But you know your mummy's already in trouble don't you lad?" She asked, repositioning him in her arms. "If you cry." She bit her lip. "Then they'll kick us out and it's a wee bit too cold for that isn't it lad?" She explained, a lump developing in her throat.
She kissed his forehead and wrapped her shawl tighter around the two of them, in a feudal attempt to keep them warm. Charlie was tired and closed his eyes as his mother began to sing quietly to him. Elsie hummed a soft tune under her breath as she walked around the room, rocking the boy. An onlooker might note that she clung to him, seeming to seek comfort and reassurance. In truth, she held him tight; for fear that soon he'd no longer be hers to love.
Charlie was comforted by his mother's soothing hug; it made his body all the more desperate for the warmth of his cradle. But his tiny mind swam and he fought the safety of sleep. He could sense his mother's worry and it bothered him. He was desperate to look back up into her face and see her smile. He needed to be assured of her peace before he went to sleep, but he found himself too entranced by the warmth of her embrace and the reassurance of her softly beating heart against his ear and soon fell to sleep.
Elsie was exhausted but couldn't bear to put him down. Logically her world would be a better place without him. She'd be what she had been before, a respectable maid in an even more respectable house, her honor intact. She'd make a good living and still have the chance of a husband if she wanted…
But now that she'd had her son there was no going back, and she'd have it no other way, for a mother's love was far too great a prize to ever surrender.
The small one-roomed apartment grew quiet for Elsie as the sound of her son's cries ringing in her ears faded into a deafening silence far harder to tolerate. It was in that environment where her mind roamed freely, often wandering into dangerous, uncharted places she couldn't bare to take herself.
Now that she was asleep though, she felt the urge to voice the truth and knew it was safe to do so. The baby would not hear or understand, and she could free her angst to the air and urge herself to fully face it, knowing it was grim but true. It had no place trapped in her head or weighing on her heart, although she knew it would always weigh on her heart.
Elsie had fled to Glasgow. Going home to Scotland had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to start a new life in a land where she wasn't really known, but she'd not found a way for herself there. After all, houses of repute didn't employ a girl with a baby, and besides, what was she to do with him while she worked? Truthfully, Elsie wanted to go home, to Argyll but was too ashamed and unwilling to burden her family: her sister was disabled, her mother's health was failing and her father was long dead. They couldn't handle the burden of a ruined woman and her bastard son anymore than baby Charlie could comfort his mother in her moments of greatest distress.
"I don't' know how much longer we can do this my baby lad, your mummy and you." She whispered as she started to sob, holding him tight to her chest.
Elsie had two choices and she did not like either of them. One would make her a woman of ill repute, never able to pick of the pieces of her tarnished, reputation, defiled body and broken spirit. The first might kill her, but the other would devastate her enough to leave her wanting death. She held her baby tightly at the thought and began to weep rather than cry.
"My baby boy I don't want it to come ta that. But I couldn't love ya any more and I'd do anything for you dear baby."
Charlie sighed, sensing his mother's hug even in his sleep. Exhausted, she finally put the sleeping boy in his cradle, preparing to turn in herself.
"It's Christmas." She began. "There's a third thing that Mummy can try. She can't make any promises. But just remember: your Daddy was a good man and maybe that will count for something."
Elsie bit her lip, having to brace herself at the mere thought of the man who'd fathered her son. She'd never get over him and couldn't handle thinking on him for more than a few seconds. Baby Charlie made that difficult most days, he looked a lot like his Dad. Elsie kissed her son again.
"Now get a good sleep little Charlie, you and your mum have a long journey tomorrow."
