CHAPTER SIX
HOME

She headed straight out of the kitchen, wandering around for a while until she found the pantry. She sifted through the shelves, searching for the ingredients to make a jam sponge. After gathering everything into her arms, she made her way back through the hallway to the kitchen, placing everything down on the counter. She stood there for a moment, her hand on her chin, trying to remember the exact ingredients needed for the cake.

She grabbed a pencil and wrote down each ingredient, along with the quantities she needed, before weighing them out. As she mixed the ingredients together, Sister Monica Joan's face lit up.

"Ooh, a cake!" Sister Monica Joan exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement as she stood in the doorway.

Elizabeth looked up from the bowl and smiled. "Would you like to help me, Sister?"

Sister Monica Joan didn't respond, only smiled and walked over, peering into the mixing bowl.

"Just hold the bowl steady, Sister, while I grab some baking paper," Elizabeth said, her smile warm. She quickly placed the baking paper into the tray and opened the oven to check the temperature.

"I think it's ready," Elizabeth said, placing her hand inside to feel the warmth.

"Would you like to have a taste before I put it in the oven?" Elizabeth asked, smiling at her.

"Just a little bit," Sister Monica Joan replied, dipping her pinkie into the bowl with delight before licking her finger. "It tastes very good," she added as she began pouring the mixture into the baking dish, ready for the oven.

"Now we wait," Elizabeth said, prompting a soft giggle from Sister Monica Joan.

Sister Monica Joan dragged a chair over to the oven and sat down, her eyes fixed on the cake as it baked. Meanwhile, Elizabeth wandered through the halls, eventually coming across a photo of the residents. She smiled, gazing at the picture—they all looked so happy. She picked it up and made her way back to the kitchen.

Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil from her bag, which lay on the chair, she sat down at the table and began sketching.

The members of Nonatus House knew the cake would take about an hour to bake, giving Elizabeth enough time to finish her drawing. As she sketched, the lovely scent of the cake began to fill the air from the oven beside her. She grabbed a cloth from the counter, wrapped it around her hands to avoid burning herself, then opened the oven door and carefully removed the cake.

She placed it on a cooling rack before beginning to whip the cream into stiff peaks. As she watched it come together, she opened the jar of jam and followed each step carefully. She sliced the cake in half, spreading jam on each side, then adding a layer of cream. After dusting the top with icing sugar, she placed the cake into a tin.

Sitting back down, she finished her drawing, then placed it on top of the cake tin. Knowing Sister Monica Joan might be tempted, she quickly hid the tin away.

She grabbed her drawing pad and pencils, placed them into her bag, then threw it over her shoulder before heading out. It was 4 p.m., which meant Timothy should be home by now.

"Farewell, sister," Elizabeth called, waving to Sister Monica Joan, who was sitting and working on her handcrafts.

"Goodbye, child," Sister Monica Joan replied, offering a wave as Elizabeth made her way out.

Elizabeth was heading home, but she decided to stop by and visit her father and Shelagh, so she stepped down the stone steps of Nonatus House and made her way towards her father's surgery. The walk through the streets of Poplar was always a challenge at this time of day. The schools had just let out, and the streets were alive with the sound of children running home, their laughter and chatter filling the air. She couldn't help but smile at the lively noise.

As she walked further, she passed women stepping out of their houses and flats, baskets of laundry in hand. They hung their clothing on public washing lines that stretched across the streets, or stood chatting in small groups, cigarettes dangling from their fingers, while their children played in the street with friends. The scene was always the same—warm, familiar, and full of life.

Eventually, Elizabeth arrived at her father's surgery. She stepped through the door, which swung shut behind her.

"Oh, hello, Elizabeth," Shelagh said, offering a warm smile. "Could you possibly manage reception for a while? We're a bit rushed." Shelagh looked exhausted.

"Of course," Elizabeth replied, returning the smile before taking a seat. She enjoyed working at reception, especially the chance to chat with visitors.

Once her father's surgery closed for the day, Elizabeth made her way to the maternity home—a haven for expectant mothers to rest and receive care during their pregnancies. Stepping onto the ward, she approached Shelagh.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Elizabeth asked.

"I wish mine were as helpful," one of the women remarked with a chuckle, causing Shelagh to laugh and Elizabeth to smile in response.

"Is she your daughter, Mrs. Turner?" one of the other ladies asked, glancing from Elizabeth to Shelagh.

"She's Patrick's eldest child," Shelagh replied with a smile, her voice warm. Though Elizabeth hadn't been in Poplar long or a part of the Turner family for much time, Shelagh, and her father had both come to feel like her parents in her heart. It meant the world to her—after all, she had neither mother nor father of her own.

"There must be something I can do to help," Elizabeth said, a hint of pleading in her voice. She had always been busy at the orphanage, and now, here in Poplar, she found herself feeling restless. "Please, Shelagh, I'm no use at home, and you look so tired and stressed."

Shelagh sighed, clearly weary, but softened at Elizabeth's concern. "You can go and get me some fresh sheets from the storage closet. Go back out of here, and it's on your right," she instructed, and Elizabeth nodded before quickly heading out of the room.

As Elizabeth walked toward the door, she overheard one of the ladies say, "She's a polite and sweet child, isn't she?" Her gaze lingered on Elizabeth as she passed.

"Isn't she just?" Shelagh responded, her voice full of pride.

"I wish my kids were like that," another mother chimed in, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "I seem to spend most of my time cleaning up after them, instead of them cleaning up after me." The others chuckled in agreement.

End Of Chapter 6