**Orphaned at Six: A Mother of Two, Expecting a Third**
I became an orphan at the age of six. My mother already had two daughters and was in labour with the third. I remember everythinghow she screamed, how the neighbours gathered, weeping, how her voice faded away
Why didnt anyone call a doctor or take her to hospital? I could never understand it. Was the village too remote? Were the roads blocked by snow? I still dont know, but there must have been a reason. Mum died in childbirth, leaving behind me, my sister, and the tiny newborn, Poppy.
After Mums death, Dad was lost. We had no family nearbythey were all up Northso there was no one to help him look after us. The neighbours urged him to remarry quickly. Less than a week after Mums funeral, he was already engaged.
People suggested he propose to the village schoolteacherapparently, she was kind-hearted. Dad went, and she agreed. Clearly, she fancied him. He was young and handsome, after all. Tall, slim, with dark, gypsy-like eyes you could lose yourself in.
Anyway, that evening, Dad returned with his fiancée to introduce her.
*”Ive brought you a new mum!”*
I was furious, bitter without understanding why, but my childs heart knew something was wrong. The house still smelled of Mum. We wore the dresses shed sewn and washed, and now here he was, handing us a replacement. Looking back, I get it. But at the time, I hated himand her. Who knows what she imagined about us, but she waltzed in arm-in-arm with Dad.
They were both a bit tipsy, and she said:
*”Call me Mum, and Ill stay.”*
I whispered to my little sister:
*”Shes not our mum. Ours is dead. Dont call her that!”*
My sister burst into tears, and I, the eldest, stepped forward.
*”No, we wont call you Mum. Youre not our mother. Youre a stranger!”*
*”Oh, what fire in such a little thing! Well then, I wont stay.”*
The schoolteacher stormed out. Dad almost followed but hesitated at the door. He stood frozen, head bowed, then turned back, gathered us into his arms, and wept. We cried with him. Even baby Poppy in her crib whimpered. We cried for Mum; he cried for his beloved wife. But an orphans grief cuts deeper. A childs tears are the same the world overthe ache for a mother knows no language. It was the only time I ever saw Dad cry.
He stayed another fortnight. He worked in forestry, and his crew was due to leave. What else could he do? No other jobs in the village. He struck a deal with a neighbour, left money for food, entrusted Poppy to another, and trudged off to the woods.
We were alone. The neighbour came, cooked, stoked the fire, and leftshe had her own life. We spent days cold, hungry, and scared. The village debated what to do. They needed someone speciala woman whod take us as her own. But where could they find her?
Then a distant cousin of a villager remembered a young womanabandoned by her husband because she couldnt have children. Some said shed lost a baby; no one knew for sure. They tracked her down, wrote a letter, and through another aunt, Lily, invited her to us.
Dad was still in the forest when Lily arrived one quiet morning. She slipped in so silently we didnt hear. I woke to footstepssomeone moving like Mum had. The clink of dishes, the smell of pancakes!
My sister and I peeked through a crack. Lily bustled calmlyscrubbing, sweeping. Finally, she realised we were awake.
*”Come on then, my little golden girlslets eat!”*
We were puzzled by the nickname. We were fair-haired and blue-eyed, like Mum. Summoning courage, we crept out.
*”Sit down!”*
We didnt argue. We devoured the pancakes and started trusting her.
*”Call me Auntie Lily.”*
Later, she bathed us, scrubbed everything clean, and left. She returned the next day. Under her care, the house bloomedjust like when Mum lived. Three weeks passed, Dad still gone. Auntie Lily tended to us well but kept a slight distance. My sister, Violet, adored her. Of courseshe was only three. I stayed wary. Auntie Lily was strict, reserved. Mum had been laughter and song, calling Dad *”Vinnie.”*
*”Whatll happen when your father comes back? Whats he like?”*
I babbled clumsily, nearly spoiling things.
*”Hes brilliant! So well-behaved! When he drinks, he just falls asleep!”*
Auntie Lily stiffened.
*”Drinks often?”*
*”All the time!”* chirped Violet. I kicked her under the table.
*”No, only at parties!”*
That evening, Lily left reassuredand Dad came home that same night. He gaped at the tidy house.
*”Thought youd be living like urchins. Youre living like royalty!”*
We spilled the story. He sat, thoughtful, then:
*”Right. Ill meet this new housekeeper. Whats she like?”*
*”Shes ever so pretty!”* said Violet. *”Makes pancakes, tells stories!”*
Looking back, I chuckle. Lily wasnt pretty by any standardsmall, plain, mousy. But what do kids know about beauty?
Dad laughed, dressed smart, and went to meet her. The next day, he brought her home. She entered shyly, as if bracing for rejection.
I nudged Violet.
*”Lets call her Mum. Shes nice!”*
Together, we shouted:
*”Mum! Mums here!”*
Dad and Lily fetched Poppy together. For Poppy, Lily became mother in every waytreasured her, cherished her. Poppy never remembered Mum. Violet forgot. Only I rememberedjust like Dad. Once, I caught him staring at Mums photo, whispering:
*”Whyd you leave so soon? You took all my joy with you.”*
I didnt stay long with Dad and Lily. At ten, I was sent to boarding schoolno proper school in the village. By thirteen, I was at technical college. I always wanted to leave early. Why? Lily never hurt meprotected me like her own. But I kept my heart guarded. Was I ungrateful?
I chose to be a midwifeno accident. I cant turn back time to save Mum, but Ill fight for another mother
