like those of a child’s, but for the chafing and redness, would
move protectively to her belly as she spoke.

“My Pa’s not too happy.” she said, one morning, breaking
the silence. “About the baby, you know. Says he won’t have
nothing to do with it. That I’m on my own.”

| smiled the awkward smile people use when strangers tell
them something they're not sure they want, or ought, to hear;
as if wary of the import of the gesture, suspicious of the gift of

know,” and | fancied she preened a little at this. | smiled in
sympathy at my father-in-law’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.
God only knew the cajoling she’d done to get him involved in all
this.

“Well, good luck. And don’t say | didn’t warn you. If they
slam the door in your face, that is.” ;

“Victoria, really. Not everyone’s as hard-nosed as you are.”
and with that they pulled out of the driveway.

3 I'd

never been

in the house
across the
way, of
course, but |
thought that
| had a pretty
good idea of
what it
looked like. |
cringed at
the thought

of the

| usually arrived at the bus stop first.
After a couple of minutes | would glance
around to see her ambling up the hill from her
parents’ place, a tiny cottage that stood back
an enviable five hundred yards from the main
road.

It had always intrigued me who lived
there. | remember many a time just sitting at
the kitchen table, staring out the window,
daydreaming. It was easy to let my imagination
fancy all kinds of strange notions about the
inhabitants across the way because the house
was almost obscured from view by conifers -
trees so tall they must have been planted by the
original owners. | used to think how dark it
must be all year in that little house. In its
isolation the house now represented a haven, a
bastion of tranquillity. For the drone of
progress, composed by tractors, like giant
mechanical insects on caterpillar feet
consumed, from dawn to dusk, the cornfields
around our small community and gnawed their
way into the residents’ peace of mind.

| must have seen her at the bus stop on
and off for about two months before we spoke.
And, even then, it was almost out of a sense of
obligation to recognise each other that we
began an exchange of pleasantries and inanities
about the weather and the buses. | neither
tried to draw her out nor did | shun her. It was
simply that, on a country lane such as ours, not
to have said anything would have appeared
rude. ;

She was very young, with traces of baby
fat still about her face, and rather plain, though
not unappealing, features, framed by a crop of
mousy, dishevelled hair. The differences in our
ages and social standing made me feel
somewhat uncomfortable talking to her. Her
cheap clothes seemed to scream at the cut and
quality of my own, while her long, drawn-out
_ vowels echoed the mien of my short, clipped
ones. She was always very friendly, however, in
a vacuous sort of way. | confess | thought her a
bit of a simpleton.

Nevertheless, it should never have
happened the way it did. Looking back, and
considering how the story reached me, it’s
difficult to say who was really to blame.
Informed common sense points to negligence
and stupidity, while those with faith simply
shrug their shoulders and say that God
sometimes works in mysterious ways. After all |
know now of the pathos and the pain | wonder
if faith isn’t simply a mask worn by those who
fear the answer to the unspoken why.

Perhaps it is my inexplicable guilt (but
what could | have done, really?) that makes me
now wish | had taken more than a cursory
interest in the girl. As her condition became
more obvious, and from the little information |
gathered about her working conditions - she
washed dishes in a restaurant two bus rides
away - and home life - an embittered father, a
brow-beaten mother, several younger siblings -
naturally, | grew quite sympathetic towards her.
Or perhaps it was only pity that | felt. After all,
it was no concern of mine. And | know the
minute | stepped off the bus | never gave her a
second thought until the next time | found
myself at the bus stop first, awaiting her
approach.

But what if we had talked of something
else? Would | have felt any different about her?
It pains me to think how words could have
endeared her plight to me more than the story
of her soft, grey eyes which flickered with hints
of a secret treasure yet seemed strangely muted
with a sorrow beyond her years; the way she
smiled with only part of her face, yet it was a
genuinely friendly smile, and how her hands,

trust engendered by the speaker. | briefly wondered if she had
noticed my glancing towards her belly, her plight six or even
months evident to the most casual observer.

“And my Ma...well, she doesn’t say much of anything. She
never does. Lets my pa do all the talking.”

Again the enigmatic smile. As | raised my eyes to meet
hers, she looked to the ground, as if uncertain whether to
continue the confession she had, almost involuntarily it seemed,
begun. | wonder did she single me out for a particular reason?
Did she sense in me a sympathy? A common understanding?
Or, locked in her lonely world was she making a last desperate
attempt at communication with another; to reach out and
touch, and be touched by, human compassion and
understanding?

“He was a boy | met at a dance,” she resumed by way of
apology, rubbing her chubby, ringless fingers. “He knows about
the baby but doesn’t want anything to do with it. Says it’s my
own fault and | should’ve took precautions.”

She stumbled over the last word and it occurred to me she
might not have had any idea what was going on at the time. |
felt uncomfortable with a mental picture | had of a lover's
passionate tryst; a consummation of what? Lust and loneliness
made sad bed-partners. =

- 1 don’t suppose | would ever have learned anything more
about the girl had it not been for one of my mother-in-law’s
surprise visits. She had a peculiarly mother-in-law habit of using
gestures rather than words to draw attention to things that did
not meet her approval. As she brushed her fingers across the
dust on the furniture and then proceeded to fish around in her
handbag for a handkerchief to wipe her hands with | found
myself on the defensive, once again, and pointed out the
window towards the construction, explaining, with as much
patience as | could muster under the
circumstances, how in the hot, dry summer
months it was impossible to keep on top of the
cleaning. You no sooner removed the dust than
more settled to take its place.

“That's funny,” she said, moving closer to
the window. “Why would they leave all those
trees in the middle there?” .

“Oh, there’s a house in there. | don’t think
they could get all the landowners to sell.”

“Just one old stubborn man sitting on his
property, then?” ;

“No, actually there’s a family living there.

They’‘re tenants. Someone else owns the land.”
And, anxious to steer the conversation clear of my
lapses in wifely duties | found myself telling my
mother-in-law about the pregnant girl. | should
have known better. Though she had an
overwhelming urge to try and control the lives of
those around her, my mother-in-law was not an
unkind person. Her heart was very much in the
right place. It was just that she could be so
interfering and overbearing at times.

"| could ask around at church,” she
enthused. “Get her some baby clothes at least.
The poor thing must be strapped for cash.”

“I'm not so sure that’s a good idea,” |
cautioned. “Sometimes people are too proud to
accept charity.”

“Nonsense, Victoria,” she had another
annoying habit of always using my full name.

“The problem with the young today is they just
don’t want to get involved. Too self-centred. No
one has any values anymore. You know, just last
week Reverend Simmons was saying...”

“Okay, okay,” | said. “If you think it’s the
right thing to do then go ahead.” The last thing |
needed right now was another lecture.

A couple of weeks had passed when she
called round again.

“Oh, Victoria, you simply must come and

see what | have for the child.” =

| followed her out to the driveway and there,
in the back of her station wagon, was one of the
most beautiful cribs | had ever seen.

“But it must have cost a small fortune,” |
gasped, running my fingers over the smoothly
polished wood. “What is this? Oak or
something.”

“Solid oak,” she replied. “We have some
very wealthy families in our congregation, you

ostentatious
crib sitting in their living room like a huge beacon, drawing
attention not only to the girl’s status as an unwed mother, but
also the economic plight of the family.

Because she became involved, it was my mother-in-law
who later told me about how the girl’s water broke while she
was all alone in the house; how she’d been to the doctor’s that
morning and how her mother had, subsequently, left her by
herself; how she was trapped in the bathroom and had to slide,
on the backs of her elbows, down the stairs, to the phone in the
kitchen; how the phone was on the wall and how she had to
drag herself onto her knees to make the call. Then there was the
mix-up with the ambulance and the driver couldn’t find the
house on account of the landlord, who, for several years now,
had refused to change the number on the gatepost to
accommodate the new roads and subdivisions. By the time the
ambulance crew found the house and the girl, struggling futilely
on the floor with the phone, it was too late.

| watched from the gates of the cemetery as the tiny white
coffin was lowered into the ground. Only the girl, her father,
and the minister stood in attendance. Footling breech was the
coroner’s pronouncement. However, according to the
ambulance men, so my mother-in-law told me, there wasn’t a
mark on the child. It was born a normal, healthy baby. As they
passed through the cemetery gates the girl turned and looked in
my direction. All light had left her eyes. They stood out as
desolate hollows in a face wan with emptying grief. As | turned
away | thought | saw a tear run down her father’s cheek.

Rachael C. Preston

yornw nFw

tke those ofa childs, but forthe chafing and redness, would
_move protectively to her belly as she spoke.

“"My Pa's not too happy.” she said, one morning, breaking
the sence. “About the baby, you know. Says he won't have.
thing to do with it. That Fm on my own.”

smiled the awkward srile people use when anger tell
them something theyre not sure they want, or ought, fo heat;
asf wary ofthe import ofthe gesture, suspicious ofthe git of

know,” and fancied she preened a lite at this. | smiled in
sympathy at my fatherinlaw’s reflection in te rear-view miror.
God ony knew the cajoling she'd done to get him invaved in all
this

“Well ood hick. And don‘ say didnt warn you. if they
slam the door in your face, that.”

“Vitoria relly. Not everyone's as hard-nosed as you ae.”
‘and with that they pulled out ofthe diveway.

re

ever been

rl at the Bus Stop

In the house
across the
way, of
course, but
thought that
Uad a pretty

‘good dea of
‘what it

Tooked like. 1
cringed at
the thought

ofthe

| usualy artived a the bus stop fest.
‘After a couple of minutes I would glance
‘around to see her ambling up the hil fom her
parents place, a tiny cottage that stood back
{an enviable five hundred yards rom the main
road.

‘had always intrigued me who lived
there. [remember many a time just iting at
the kitchen table, staring out the window,
daydreaming. It was easy to let my imagination
fancy all kinds of range notions about the
Inhabitants across the way because the house
‘was almost obscured from view by conifers ~
{tees 50 tl they must have been planted by the
‘riginal owners. | used to think how dark it
‘must be al ear in that ite house. In its
{solation the house now represented a haven, 2
bastion of tranquility. For the drone of
progress, composed by tractors, ike gant
‘mechanical insects on caterpilar fet
‘consumed, from dawn to dus, the comfelds
‘around our small community and gnawed thelr
‘way into the residents’ peace of mind.

must have seen her atthe bus stop on
and of for about two months before we spoke.
‘And, even then, it was almost out ofa sense of
‘bligation to recognise each other that we
bbegan an exchange of peasanivies and ianities
‘about the weather and the buses. Inelther
teed to draw her out nor did I shun her. Te was
simply that, on a county lane suchas ous, not
te have said anything would have appeared
ride

‘She was very young, with races of baby
fat stil about her face, and rather pain though
‘ot unappealing, feature, famed bya crop of
mousy, disheveled hair. The differences in our
ages and socal standing made me fel
‘somewhat uncomfortable taking to her. Her
‘cheap clothes seemed to scream atthe cut and
quality of my own, while er long, drawn-out
‘vowels echoed the mien of my shor, clipped
‘ones. she was always very friendly, however, In
‘a vacuous srt of way. I confess thought her a
bit ofa simpleton

[Nevertheless it should never have
happened the way it did. Looking back, and
Considering how the story reached me, i’
dlificult to say who was really to blame,
Informed common sense points to negligence
and stupidity, while those with faith simpy
Shrug thelr shoulders and say that God
Sometimes works in mysterious ways. Afterall |
know now of the pathos and the pain | wonder
If faith st simply a mask worn by those who
fear the answer to the unspoken why.

Perhaps it fs my inexpieable guilt (but
what could | have done, rally?) that makes me
‘how with thad taken more than a cursory
Interest in the git, Asher condition became
‘more obvious, and from the ite information |
‘gathered about her working conditions - he
‘washed dishes in a restaurant two bus rides
‘away -and home life - an embittered father,
brow-beaten mother, several younger siblings -
naturally, | grew quite sympathetic towards her.
‘Or pethaps it was only pity that felt. Alter al,
‘was no concern of mine. And know the
‘minute | stepped ofthe bus Inever gave her a
second thought unl the next time I found
myself at the bus stop fst, awaiting her
approach

But what we had talked of something
‘se? Would have fet any diferent about hr?
Itpains me to think how words coud have
‘endeared her plight tome more than the tory
‘other sty grey ees which lckered with its
ofa secre tease yet seemed strangely muted
with sorrow beyond her years; the way se
Sled with ony part ofr ac, yet twas
enue fenaly smile, and how her hands,

trust engendered by the speaker. | briely wondered if she had
noticed my glancing towards her belly, he plight x or even
‘months evident tothe most casual observer

“And my Ma..wel, she doesn’t say much of anything. She
ever does. Lets my pa do all the talking.”

‘Again the enigmatic smile. As raised my eyes to meet
hers, she loked tothe ground, asf uncertain whether to
Continue the confession she had, almost involuntarily it seemed,
begun. | wonder di she single me out for a particular reason?
Did she sense in mea sympathy? A common understanding?
(0, locked inher lonely world was she making a last desperate
attempt at communication with another; to reach out and
touch, and be touched by, human compassion and
Understanding?

"He was. boy Imet ata dance,” she resumed by way of
‘apology rubbing her chubby, ringless fingers. “He knows about
the baby but doesnt want anything to dowith it. Say i's my
‘own faut and I should've took precautions.”

She stumbled over the last word and it occured to me she
might not have had any idea what was going on atthe time. |
felt uncomfortable with a mental picture had ofa lovers
passionate tyst; a consummation of what? Lust and loneliness
‘made sad bed-partners.

|'don't suppose | would ever have leamed anything more
about the gl had it not been for one of my mother.inlaw’s
surprise ists. She had a peculiarly mothernlaw habit of using
‘gestures rather than words to draw attention to things that did
ot meet her approval. Asshe brushed her finger across the
‘dust on the furniture and then proceeded to fish around in her
handbag fra handkerchie to wipe her hands with | found
myself on the defensive, once again, and pointed out the
window towards the construction, explaining, with as much
patlence as I could muster under the
{reumstances, how in the hot, dy summer
‘manthsit was impossible to keep on top ofthe
cleaning. You no sooner removed the dust than
‘more settled to take ts place,

“That's funny," she sid, moving closer to
the window. “Why would they leave all those
tweesin the middle there?”

“Oh, there's house in there. don‘ think
they could get all the landowners to sl.”

“ust one ol stubborn man sting on his
property, then?”

No, actually there's family living there.

They‘e tenants. Someone else owns the and.”
‘And, ansious to ster the conversation clear of my
lapses in wily duties found myzeltling my.
mother inlaw about the pregnant git. should
have known beter. Though she had an
‘overwhelming urge to try and contrl the ives of
those around her, my mathernJaw was not an
unkind person. Her heart was very much inthe
Fight pace. It was just that she could beso
interfering and overbearing at times.

"I could ask around at church,” she
enthused. “Get her some baby clothes atlas.

The poor thing must be strapped for cash”

“i'm not so sure that’ good idea,” |
cautioned. “Sometimes people are too proud to
accept charity.”

Nonsense, Victoria,” she had another
annoying habit of always using my full name,

“The problem with the young today i they just

ont want to get invoWved. Too selt-centred. No
‘one has any values anymore. You know, jst last
week Reverend Simmons was saying.”

“Okay, okay,” sad. “Hf you think it’s the
fight thing to do then go ahead” The last thing |
needed right now was another lecture.

‘Acouple of weeks had passed when she
called round again

“Oh, Victoria, you simply must come and
see what i have forthe child”

followed her out tothe driveway and there,
in the back of her station wagon, was one ofthe
‘most beautiful eibs had ever seen

“But it must have cost a small fortune,” |
‘gasped, running my fingers over the smoothly
polished wood. “What isthis? Oak or
Something.”

“Solid oak,” she replied. "We have some
very wealthy fame in our congregation, you

‘ostentatious
crib siting in tei living 100m lke a huge beacon, drawing
attention not only to the gi’ status as an unwed mother, but
‘iso the economic plight ofthe family

Because she became involved, it was my mother.n-law
who later told me about how the g's water broke while she
‘was all alone in the house, how she'd been tothe doctor's that
‘morning and how her mother had, subsequent, lft her by
hers; how she was tapped inthe bathroom and had to slide,
‘on the backs of her elbows, down the stairs, tothe phone in the
chen; how the phone was on the wall and how she had to
‘rag herself onto er ees to make thecal. Then there was the
‘mixup withthe ambulance and the diver couldn't find the
house on account of the landlord, who, for several years now,
had refused to change the number on the gatepost to
‘accommodate the new roads and subdivisions. By the time the
ambulance crew found the house and the gi, struggling futely
‘on the floor with the phone, it was too late

watched from the gates of the cemetery asthe tiny white
«offi was lowered into the ground. Only the gi, her father,
land the minster stood in attendance. Footing breech was the
Coroners pronouncement. However, according to the
“ambulance men, so my mother.n-law told me, there wasn't a
‘mark on the child. twas bom a normal, healthy baby. As they
passed through the cemetery gates the gi turned and looked in
In direction. Allight had let her eyes. They stood out as
‘desolate hollows inaface wan with emptying gre, As |tumed
away thought | saw a tear run down her father’s cheek

Rachael C. Preston,