“Are you all right?” Alice asked with concern, hoping the anxiety wasn’t returning. “You’ve not had any more of your migraines?”

“No, I’m fine,” Ruth replied matter-of-factly. “It’s simply for the best. You’ve finished work now, so there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“It’s not what we discussed, though. I said I’d go to Brighton after Christmas. I want to be here . . . with you.”

“Best not risk it.” Ruth glanced at her. “You’re beginning to show.”

Alice gently pressed her palms over her belly. She was lucky to be tall like her father; she could carry a bit of extra weight without anyone noticing. “I don’t want to be by myself,” she said, growing tearful.

“You won’t be. And you’ll be helping your aunt for as long as you’re able.” Ruth carried on smoothing out the wrinkled garments with her fingers. She was moving with her usual calm, practiced efficiency, which made it even more troubling that she was reneging on their agreement. “Come on now, you did say you’d be all right on your own. And I’ll come down on Sundays after church. Anyway, Hope needs you—it’s busy in the lead-up to Christmas.”

There was no question she wouldn’t go; her aunt was counting on her, although she still didn’t know what Hope really thought about her predicament, or what sort of reception she would get, since Ruth had been the one who’d made all the arrangements.

“I don’t see why I can’t wait a few more weeks.”

When Ruth didn’t reply, Alice walked over and placed a hand on her mother’s arm, but she shrugged it away. “How did you get on today?” Ruth asked tersely as she opened another drawer.

“It was okay,” Alice replied with forced cheerfulness.

Ruth wouldn’t look at her, and Alice realized, with renewed sadness, that she must still be very disappointed. Was she ashamed of her daughter? Alice wanted to tell Ruth again that it wasn’t her fault, but this hadn’t done her any good when she’d tried before. She hoped that in time her mother would forgive her—maybe when the baby was born.

“They were sorry to see me go, but I said I’d see them again.” A bubble of emotion caught in Alice’s throat, and she moved beside Ruth, picking up a garment and folding it, while willing herself not to cry.

“Was that wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re unlikely to want you back afterward, are they?”

“I know, but it was harder than I thought.”

Ruth’s attention was fixed on the small statue hanging above Alice’s bed. The eyes of the Virgin Mary were half-closed as she looked down at the baby Jesus in her arms, and it felt as if there was meaning in her gaze.