Bernadette: the maid.

May 1936

I know I am only a maid, and it is not my place. But that boy...he seems so fragile. I know it is a sin, but I give him extra portions of food. Mistress would beat me most probably for this, but I just don't want to see him hurt.

He is so profound for a small child, no older than five or six. He looks at the sky, sits still when all the other children are running around and not listening. He's the little echo of the makes me happy and a bit sad at the same time.

Most of the children ignore me, or form an attachment only when they want something, but he always talks to me. He told me on the day of his fourth birthday that he liked my hair, and was told off by my mistress. And the other day....he was sitting on the step outside-it was sunny and I was putting the washing out on the line. And he turned to me and he said, 'I'm not sad that I don't know my parents. I am glad, because I can see the sky every day and it is pretty.' And I tried my best not to cry, but vowed to myself that I would look out for this solitude, fragile child, wherever he went.

The End

4 comments about this story Feed