Chapters (71)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Part Two
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part Three
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Part Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Part Five
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
- About the Author
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Blackie stared at her. “That’s very acidic for ye, Emma. Ye shouldn’t put so much on your fish; yer killing the taste.”
“I’m afraid I have a craving for spicy things these days,” Emma murmured, and started to eat.
Taking up his knife and fork, Blackie pushed these thoughts aside and tried to enjoy his steak pie. He trusted Emma not to repeat her comment about Laura. His mind turned to the show ahead and to ensuring Emma enjoyed herself on a rare night out.
Fifty-Nine
On a Tuesday evening, toward the end of March in 1906, Emma knew the baby was coming. Laura took her into St. Mary’s Hospital at Hill Top. She was in labor for ten hours, before giving birth to her child. It was exactly a month before her own seventeenth birthday in late April.
Much to Emma’s joy, it was a girl, and when she held her in her arms for the first time and looked into that sweet little face, she wondered how she would find the strength to give her to her cousin Freda in Ripon to bring up. Deep down Emma accepted she had no choice. She had to work to provide for her daughter, and at least with Freda the little girl would be safe and well taken care of. That was the truth, a certainty, in fact.
Now, on this blustering March afternoon, Emma sat in Laura’s parlor. It reminded her of Janessa Kallinski’s home, with comfortable chairs and a sofa at one end, and this spot in front of the fireplace.
Emma was wrapped in a shawl, happy to be in front of a roaring fire, warm and safe, but an air of dejection, abnormal for her, enveloped her. She glanced down at her daughter, just four days old. She knew she could not keep the baby with her, even though she longed to. The baby lay in a makeshift cradle, fashioned by Laura. It was actually a drawer from a chest Laura had lined with thick blankets and downy pillows. In the firelight, the baby’s fluff of silver-blond hair shone brightly, and her cheeks were pink as she slept in perfect peace.
This lovely child was Emma’s. No sacrifice she could make would be too great if it ensured the well-being and security of this baby. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever,” she whispered softly but with some vehemence. “And you’ll have the best that money can buy. I promise you that!” Emma meant every word.