Lost and Found

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Lincolnshirelass
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Lost and Found

Post by Lincolnshirelass »

Betty could still not believe the stroke of luck that she and her little brother Toby had had that morning. Of course, ever since their Mother had died, following their father like a faithful shadow after the miasma of the mines had rotted his lungs and sapped his spirit, she had done her best to keep his spirits up, assuring him that something would turn up. Just like Mr Micawber said in that book her teacher Miss Dawkins had lent her. At one point Betty had dreamt of being a teacher, but supposed she knew all along that it was just what he father called a pipe-dream. Sometimes, at barely 17, she felt like a disillusioned and careworn middle-aged woman. After they had been forced to leave the cottage rented from the mine, Miss Dawkins had managed to find her a position as a maid in a back-street guest house, but Betty knew Miss Dawkins would have been horrified to find out just what that 'guest house' actually was and what went on there. Betty had learnt to close her eyes, as long as nobody expected her to do what the 'girls' did. She deliberately let her lovely chestnut hair grow greasy, pulled a dusty grey shawl round herself, told herself they were still 'respectable', and at least Mrs - or Madame, as they were supposed to call her - Lamont - tolerated Toby. The truth was - and there was no point to denying it - Toby was simple-minded Their Mum had called him an 'innocent'. He could draw lovely pictures, and had a natural affinity with animals, and kinder people called him a 'lovely lad' but he would never be able to look after himself, and at thirteen, was more like a nine year old, and always would be.
For all that, he was an observant child in some ways, and he was the one who had first seen the tickets, lying on the pavement. He could just about read and write his own name, and words like 'Cat' and 'Dog' and 'Betty', but the stylised, official looking print on them was beyond him. All the same, some innate instinct told him they might be IMPORTANT and not the 'rubbish' Betty hated him picking up. 'Oh, Toby, don't dawdle,' she chided him, gently, 'We have to go to market, you know, Mrs Lamont hates it when we're not back in time for cook to see to supper for the - guests ....'
'But our Betty, these - aren't rubbish, honest they aren't!' he exclaimed. 'At least have a look, won't you!'
Betty sighed, but gave in, realising it would probably be quicker. And in any case, her curiosity was pricked. The minute she looked more closely she stopped in her tracks so suddenly she nearly knocked an irate-looking gentleman in a bowler hat and tweed suit flying. 'Sorry, sir,' she muttered.
'Blasted ragamuffin,' he said, with a look of contempt. Betty didn't care. She'd been called worse. And she had other things on her mind. This was like a miracle or something from a fairy-story, and it was the twentieth century now - and anyway, her life had not seen anything resembling a miracle or a fairy-story lately. Though she tried to be a good Christian girl she didn't believe in the former, and had never had much time for the latter.
'They are important, aren't they, Betty?' he asked, turning his trusting brown eyes on her. 'Tell me what they are!'
Never had a couple of seconds seemed so long to Betty. It was as if two voices were in conflict in her mind. One of them said 'Forget it. At least you have an income now, and a place where they're alright with Toby. It would just be sheer madness and wicked to give all that up to chase a dream that would almost certainly end badly'. But that other voice told her that, in happier days, her Mum had once told her that you should follow your dreams, or at any rate, not give up on them, and that there was most definitely what she called 'Providence'. Oh, Mum, thought Betty, blinking back the tears that still came as she saw that sweet, patient face, remembering it before it was drained by grief and sickness and poverty. What would you do? What would you tell US to do? She wondered if she should even tell Toby what he had found, or try to fob him off with another explanation - he would believe her, anyway. He has absolute trust in 'Our Betty'.
The words were out before she realised it, in a rush. At first she wondered if he would even understand. But he understood, and it was as if the early spring sunshine had filtered down into his eyes. 'Oh, our Betty, it's - it's bloody good!'
'Don't swear,' she corrected him automatically, though she knew he did not have words like wonderful or marvellous in his vocabulary. 'We can, can't we?' he pleaded.
'But it's such a risk, Toby,' she said. 'And it's not really so bad where we are, is it now?'
In that instant, though, it was as if a side of Betty that had been dormant and suppressed since her Mother's death suddenly surged up again, like a flame rekindled from what seemed like cold ashes in a neglected morning hearth. She had had enough of 'not really so bad'.
She wanted better. She wanted to at least try for something better, and perhaps it WAS providence.
'Listen, Toby,' she said, putting her hands on his shoulders - he was already taller than she was, a perpetual child in a body rapidly becoming a man's. 'You do know this could all end very badly, don't you? That it's a foolish thing to do.'
'Mum would have called it - pro - providence!' Somehow, that was what decided it for Betty. She had no notion that Toby was aware of the meaning of the word, and his proud remembering of it was like an omen.
They did not have much time to make their plans. Perhaps that was as well, Betty thought. On the morning of their departure, she felt, strangely, both older and younger. She clutched the tickets like the Holy Grail.
But Betty, though she was wiry and a hard worker, was still only small and slight, and no match for the two burly, bearded strangers who had been tailing her and Toby as she was lost in thought and Toby was already planning his adventures. 'Well, now, look what these kiddies have!' one of the strangers said in a voice like honey coated with lye. 'Too young to be setting off on your own, aren't you!' She fought bravely, but was wrested to the ground and knocked out, spraining her ankle as she fell. 'Betty, Betty, wake up!' Toby yelled, flailing gallantly and in vain at their attackers as they made off with their precious tickets and their escape from their dreary existence.

Thirty years afterwards, as the world was ravaged by war and Betty (who had done well for herself and married a kindly local shopkeeper who was very good to Toby, though, tragically, he had died of a fever when he was only in his twenties) praying for the safe homecoming of her only son, Jeremy, who was in the heat of the desert, she found comfort reminding herself - and her much-loved daughter in law Barbara, that there WAS such a thing as providence. There had to be. Even if it sometimes manifested itself in strange ways that seemed like just the opposite at the time.
Providence could be cloaked in the guise of heartless assailants, who stole their tickets for the Titanic ......
An Eye for an Eye only ends up making the whole world blind.

Mahatma Gandhi
Rattyhatty
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Post by Rattyhatty »

A wonderful piece! It makes a person think about what would happen if things did go according to plan. Love to see more work from you!
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Pinkyrosy090
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Post by Pinkyrosy090 »

Wow nice write up it gives me the impressing to always have a dream, and
never give up on it

Feel very motivated reading this
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Jude Austin
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Post by Jude Austin »

Nice twist at the end! I'm glad Betty got a happy ending as well.
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DATo
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Post by DATo »

How in the hell did I miss this when you first posted it? I must be getting old *LOL*

You are multi-talented Lassie. Just as I have grown accustomed to your wonderful poetry I now learn that you are also a very good short story writer. You probably know from my own stories that I love a twist ending and you penned a doosie here. LOVED IT!!!!

Please excuse the lateness of this reply and accept my sincere compliments on this excellent story!
“I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed reading accident. I hit a book mark and flew across the room.”
― Steven Wright
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ikegabeike 555
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Post by ikegabeike 555 »

Plans set you up for the thing so think behind the wave that throws you off balance
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