‘You’ll be discreet now, won’t you?’ Rachel said. ‘No one else needs to know about your, how should I put it—well, the unfortunate predicament you find yourself in. Helen here tells me that the place you’re going to is excellent, and that you’ll be back on your feet in no time.’
This time it was harder to fix her smile. She wanted to scream that she was pregnant, not suffering from the plague, and that the baby growing inside her was as wanted as the four childrenwho were galloping around the house behind their mother. But she didn’t. If Oskar had been there, she would have given Rachel a piece of her mind, but Amalie knew she couldn’t afford to burn any bridges, not now.
‘Helen will see you there, and perhaps we could see you after…’ Her words lingered, and Amalie spared her the need to continue.
‘I understand. Thank you again.’
Rachel gave her a pat on the shoulder and then Amalie left, grateful that they’d at least given her use of their maid and car to transport her there. She was embarrassed enough about where she was going, wondering if people watched this Hope’s House to see who arrived. In the night, she’d imagined married women throwing rotten fruit at the young, unwed women who arrived with bulging bellies, even though she’d known it was likely her overactive imagination.
When they finally arrived, Amalie stared out of the window in surprise. They were in a quiet street surrounded by well-kept homes, and the one they were parked outside of was the nicest of them all. A small, discreet sign stating ‘Hope’s House’ was the only indication that it was any different to the other homes on the street, and she found herself staring at the magnolia tree. Despite almost all the other trees on the street losing their leaves at this time of year, it was still covered in lush green leaves.
‘This is the place?’ Amalie asked.
‘This is it,’ Helen said. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be nice?’
Amalie got out of the car and stared up at the house, admiring the bay windows upstairs. It was the kind of home she’d read about in books, where she might have imagined she and Oskar would end up raising their family if they’d stayed in England, but certainly not what she imagined a house catering for unmarried women might be like.
‘Thank you, Helen,’ she said, giving her a big, warm hug, the opposite of the pathetic back pat that she’d given Rachel. ‘I’m here because of you, and I’ll never forget your kindness when I needed you most.’
Amalie took her luggage from the car and waved Helen goodbye, but she didn’t walk straight to the door. Instead, she stood and stared up at the house, before going to sit on the steps. She needed a moment; to accept that this was her fate, that Oskar wasn’t coming for her, that it was just her and her baby alone in the world now. A shudder ran down her spine as she imagined the reaction from whoever was behind the door, the way she was going to be looked at and treated, and then she glanced down at the ring on her finger—a promise of what was supposed to come.
Why did you have to leave me, Oskar?
The door opened behind her, and Amalie quickly stood, smoothing the creases from her dress and preparing herself for the worst. But the woman standing there was as unexpected as the house itself.
‘Would you like to come in?’ the woman said, with the faintest lilt of an accent. She was perhaps twenty years older than Amalie, her hair pulled back into a soft bun and wearing an expression that was more one of kindness than judgement. ‘If you’d rather sit a while longer, that’s perfectly fine.’
‘I—’ Amalie started, immediately feeling emotional and having to blink away tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Well,’ the woman said, coming closer and holding out her hand. ‘You could come in for a cup of tea and start by telling me what led you to my door.’
‘I don’t have to stay?’ Amalie asked. ‘If I come in?—’
‘You can stay here for as little or as long as you like,’ the woman said. ‘Or you don’t have to come in at all, we could justsit on the steps here for a bit if you’d prefer. But it’s much more comfortable inside.’
Amalie smiled. ‘You’re Hope, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ Hope said. ‘And it’s just me and another young woman here at the moment, so there’s nothing to be nervous about.’
‘I’m Amalie,’ she said, taking the hand that Hope was still holding out to her. Hope’s palm was soft, and her clasp was firm yet gentle.
‘Well, Amalie, how about I take your luggage for you, and we can go and get that cup of tea on?’ she said. ‘I have some baking just out of the oven, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that most young pregnant women love a little something sweet.’
Amalie smiled through her tears, immediately warming to this woman who was inviting her into her home. She paused before walking through the door, looking up, sensing in the strangest of ways that she was, somehow, exactly where she was supposed to be, and that Oskar was looking down on her.
The house was warm and comfortable, and Amalie found herself seated at a table in the kitchen, watching as Hope moved about and made them tea, with the promised baked goods placed in front of her.
‘I can’t pick out your accent, Amalie. Where are you from?’
‘Norway,’ she said.
‘And what brings you to England? Have you lived here for long?’
Hope sat down across from her and poured the tea.
‘My fiancé was supposed to meet me here,’ Amalie said. ‘It was to be a fresh start, we were to be married when he arrived but he, well?—’
Hope’s eyes met hers.
