Counting Blessing

- Katie Ashmore

THE farmhouse kitchen was neat as a new pin. Edith had wondered whether the arrival of a baby might have changed things, but Joan was as tidy as ever.

The stone floor had been swept clean, the copperware shone and a vase of wild flowers sat on the old oak table.

As Joan proudly carried in a small bundle, Edith took a deep breath. She knew she should have visited sooner and she must make up for that now, but it wasn’t easy for her.

She was thrilled for her friend, but Joan had been married less than two years.

Edith and Neville were childless, although they had wed as soon as he came back from the trenches, over seven years ago.

They’d married on a warm May morning. Her father had driven her in his horse and cart to the tiny chapel on the cliff. The hedgerows had been bright with cow parsley, buttercups and pink campion . . .

Joan gently placed the tiny child into her arms.

“Edith, meet Dorothy. Dorothy, this is your auntie Edith.”

Dorothy was fast asleep. Edith marvelled at her long lashes and perfect miniature fingers. She kissed the little forehead, inhaling the smell of warm, milky skin, and her heart ached.

“She’s wonderful, Joan. So peaceful.”

“She might be now.” Joan grinned. “But she’s got a pair of lungs on her like her father and she’s hungry enough for two!”

Edith smiled. “That’s a good sign. She’ll grow up fine and strong.” Joan nodded proudly. “I thought you might have named her Elizabeth, after royalty,” Edith teased.

Joan was very interested in the royal family and the Duke and Duchess of York’s baby girl had been born earlier that year.