Willow Pond

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Chapter Forty-Seven

Maggie was so proud of her little Andy. All the time they’d spent traveling because she’d been afraid to stay in one place for too long had left no marks on him. She couldn’t say the same thing about herself. He was stronger than she was. She loved him so much. And yet sometimes when she looked at him she was filled with such guilt she didn’t know what to do.

The weeks after they left Vandalia’s Boarding House were terrible. They’d traveled from town to town, sometimes sleeping in the car, trying all the while as if everything were perfectly normal. Maggie was a pretty girl, used to being looked at. She had always enjoyed the attention. Now that she needed to be invisible, she didn’t know how to do it. Every stray glance or word seemed suspicious, every encounter threatening. She spent her days watching and her nights worrying, trying to figure out where to go next, how to stretch what little money she had, how to keep them both clean.

The nappies drove her crazy. She only had four. Washing them in the sinks of public bathrooms was difficult enough, but getting them to dry was impossible. More than once she scolded him for soiling one right after she’d put it on. Afterwards, she felt awful. He was so sweet. He never complained, just studied her face and watched. He had a habit of putting his little hand on her face as if to comfort her. That’s what it seemed like, anyway.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

One night while he lay sleeping in her arms, she was so hungry she ate the remains of his apple, core, seeds and all, flavored by the salt of the tears running down her face. She knew there was an escape for her, and it was easy. All she had to do was call Laura Austin and tell her where to find him. Then she’d be free of the worry and bother, the smell of nappies, the frantic need to keep moving. But what would she have then? Nothing. Just like before.

The money ran out in Chicago. She had to leave Andy alone so she could clean offices at night and return every morning, afraid he’d be gone. She knew firsthand how easy it was for a child to disappear. Once she started bringing in a tiny income, she guarded every penny.

Only when an ocean stretched between them and his parents was she able to sleep through the night again.

They stepped onto British soil then moved into a four room flat in South Kensington in February 1931. She got a job at a jewelry store, and after more than a year of being on the road and living in boarding houses, Maggie was delighted to have a home of her own. It gave her a sense of security. Also, now they were living in London she no longer worried someone would find them and take Andy away.

She decorated the large sitting room with furniture she’d bought at yard sales. The combination gave the room an eclectic look, which had received many compliments. Her new friend, Terri, gave her a bed and a dresser for Andy that her youngest son had outgrown. Maggie slept on a mattress and box spring, but that didn’t matter. She and Andy were together and happy. That was all she cared about.

She was in the kitchen putting away groceries when she heard his laughter coming from outside, where he’d been playing with the little girl who lived in the downstairs flat. A moment later she heard his footsteps on the carpeted hallway. He walked into the kitchen and proceeded directly to the cookie jar.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, Andy. Did you have fun with Janie today?”

“Yep.” He began to sing, “London bridge is falling down, falling down,” then plunked down on his little rear. He was a beautiful boy. She still kept his hair short so his curls didn’t grow, but had stopped dyeing it. Now it was its natural golden shade. The other mothers in the neighborhood were always quick to compliment her on his sweet looks and nature. She never told anyone she couldn’t take credit for either.