Seventeen:
Family

"I love Fiona," Becky announced at the tea table.

"And I love you, Aunt Becky," Fiona replied with a little smile as she passed over the little tray of sandwiches. "Did you remember to put tea in your cup before the milk?"

Becky looked at her, bewildered. "I don't like tea," she said with no small amount of confusion. "Sissy, did you put tea in my milk?"

"No, my dearest," Elsie assured her gently. "Just milk and a bit of honey, just like on the farm, love." She stirred Becky's 'tea' for her and took a sip to test it to make sure it was right. "Oh, that's perfect, lass – just how you like it."

Becky's panic subsided and she happily took her cup. "Ava, Sissy will make you tea, too –"

Ava, a tall, gaunt woman who was nearing sixty if she was a day, smiled with all the joy of a child. She was slow in the head and had a withered arm; Elsie had always found her to be sweet and charming, and she was Becky's dearest friend at Jessop House. "Yes, please," she chirped. "You 'member how, Sissy?"

"I do," Elsie replied with a small smile of her own. Ava liked her tea black with honey, an easy enough order. Elsie poured for her and passed it over, then poured for Fiona and Charles. She had learned from an early age to remember how everyone took their cup of tea, in case she needed the knowledge in the future. She barely remembered how to make her own, most days, because Charles did it for her – or Beryl did it – or Fiona did it.

Charles gently took the pot from her hands and deftly poured her a strong, black cup. She knew it wasn't what he usually gave her, but he knew her moods better than she did, and clearly, she was in need of fortification.

"Sissy," Ava said, "I like your family."

"Thank you, Ava," Elsie replied with a smile. "I like my family, too."

"They my family now?" Becky asked.

"We are," Charles spoke up. He had been very quiet all afternoon, taking everything in and processing it without comment. Elsie was a bit worried; whenever he was this quiet, it usually meant he disapproved. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel that way, to feel that she had pressured him into taking on this burden that was hers alone.

Becky grinned. "Good; you're my Charlie now. You can be my teddy bear."

Elsie's eyes widened; the absolute cheek of her sister! "Rebecca Anne Hughes," she said warningly, "Mr. Carson is not yours."

Becky pouted and whined, "But Sissy… you can't have everybody!"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I don't have everyone," she sighed.

"Yeah huh," Becky said. "You've got Joe and Charlie and me and Ava and Fiona and – and – and…" She paused and her voice rose to a higher-pitch. "And your baby!"

"Mum doesn't have a baby," Fiona spoke up gently.

"She does!" Becky insisted stubbornly.

"I really don't, my dear heart," Elsie said, reaching over to take Becky's hand. "Charlie and I have stopped trying to have a baby."

"You do," Becky said, starting to cry. "Mammy told me so!"

"Dearest," Elsie reasoned, "mammy couldn't have told you anything: she died a long time ago, remember? When you came to live with Joe and me on the farm? You were fourteen and I was twenty and –"

Becky sniffled an ugly snort; she was completely undignified, and Elsie watched Charles flinch, but otherwise, he didn't react. He was much the same way with Lady Mary when she had her ugly cries, and he was definitely more so with Fiona when she had her tantrums. He would hold his tongue, thank god. "And you bought me a hen and a rooster," Becky mumbled. "I 'member, Sissy. I was very sad 'cause mammy couldn't come."

"You see?" Elsie murmured. "Mammy couldn't have told you anything, my dearest."

"But she did," Becky sighed, swiping at her eyes and her runny nose.

Ava frowned. "Are you calling Becky a liar, Sissy? That's not nice."

Charles held up a hand. "No one is calling anyone names," he said gently. "Elsie is just saying that maybe Becky –"

"MAMMY TOLD ME SO IN MY DREAMS," Becky shouted with fury, slamming her fist onto the table and making it shake; tea and flavored milk sloshed all over the table.

Elsie had dealt with tantrums like this on a daily basis for years; she did not flinch, nor move away, but Charles and Fiona both leapt back, upsetting their chairs. "Rebecca," Elsie said, her tone very stern and yet full of love, "you will calm yourself or we will leave now and we will not come back to take you to the seaside tomorrow."

"But – but mammy – mammy said you're gonna have a baby girl named Rebecca Grace… because you wanna name her after me and Charlie's mummy," Becky said brokenly, her fury replaced with disappointment so thick it could have been sliced with a knife.

That gave Elsie pause. "What?" she said, biting her lip nervously. As with all things, she was skeptical until proof was put before her, but Becky had been blessed with what the village had called 'second sight', and despite her failings, she knew things. "Who told you Charlie's mammy's name, Becky?"

"Mammy did," Becky said, hanging her head. "Sissy, please don't be mad at me – I don't want you to be cross. Please."

"I'm not cross," Elsie lied, reaching for her teacup. "I just…"

"Mammy said you always knew the others would go to her," Becky mumbled. "But Gracie is gonna be special. 'Cause she's your heart, Sissy."

Elsie felt all of the blood drain from her face; she was dizzy, light-headed, blood pounding in her ears. Charles reached for her, and she managed to blink, to breathe again. "Oh my word," she whispered.

Years before, when she had lost Joseph Jr., her mother had come down with Becky in tow, to help Elsie get back on her feet. She had been in bed for several weeks after, not having the energy or strength to get up and go back to work; Joe had screamed and shouted and berated her for her untidy appearance, her unwashed hair, her sallow skin. And then mam had come and helped her up, washed her, sung to her, whispered assurances to her…

And one of the things she'd said was that every child was like a piece of you; but one day, one of them would be your heart and soul, personified. No matter what came before, that was the most important thing to remember.

Elsie frantically counted backward in her head and bit her lip.

It couldn't be.

They'd been so careful.

Oh god.

With the exception of one night, when she'd woken up in the middle of them making love –

Oh god.

How could she have –

Charles reached over and gently touched her hand. "Elsie, love, I know you're upset…"

"I'm not upset," she said. Her voice was wavering, shaking. "I'm bloody pregnant. Oh god. I'm – I'm – Charles, what are we going to do?"

Fiona's eyes widened and she cleared her throat. "Becky, Ava, maybe we should go make sure that Boots has her supper?" she suggested.

The three children (for really, they were) headed off, leaving Elsie and Charles to sit at the table.

"How did you leap straight to –" he began.

She cut him off. "I've not had a course for three months. My corset is too tight. I can't stand the smell of eggs and I've been throwing them up after breakfast. I just thought – I don't know what I was thinking. Charles… I'm definitely –"

He held her hand; she closed her eyes, relishing the touch.

It could be the worst possible thing to happen to them. Another round of paralyzing fear that a vengeful god would take their child away before he or she could really begin. Another painful waiting game. The idea of Elsie not working was insane.

She hesitated, then curled her fingers around his and held on for dear life.

END PART SEVENTEEN